Liaison
by Transwarp
Summary: T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship. Takes place in a mythical season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** M, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. T otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

**Note:** The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

**PROLOGUE**

Romulus, 12 Oct 2154

"I've heard enough," Admiral Milell said, interrupting Commander Vonus with an abrupt wave of his hand. "Another variation on the same failed schemes. Commander, please state the mission of this committee."

Vonus gulped and suppressed a nervous twitch. "Sir, our mission is to devise a means to obtain tactical-level intelligence on Vulcan fleet capabilities and vulnerabilities."

"You are _almost_ correct, Commander," Admiral Milell said. His tone was mild, that of a teacher correcting a wayward student, but the look in his eyes left no doubt of his displeasure. "You left out the word 'quickly'. We are to 'quickly' devise a means. Every plan I've heard today is more of the same: Infiltrate the Vulcan fleet with covert agents, as if we haven't already tried that numerous times. You have all been blinded by our prior successes placing agents inside the Vulcan High Command. You think Vulcan fleet security is as incompetent as High Command security? I assure you, it's not."

Milell stood and paced the perimeter of the table, around which the officers assigned to his committee sat, trying to be invisible. "I was hoping at least one of you would show some imagination. Some capacity for independent thought. Clearly my hopes were misplaced."

He paused his pacing, resting his hands on the back of a chair. The occupant of that chair cringed and sank lower into the seat. "Fortunately, I have thought of a way to obtain the intelligence needed by the War Plans Council in a reasonable time frame," Milell said. "We will capture a Vulcan warship and its crew. We will take that warship apart and learn all its secrets. We will do the same to its crew..."

**ONE**

_Enterprise_, 8 May 2155

The volleyball reached the top of its arc, and Trip followed its descent with satisfaction. _A perfect set._ He grinned as he prepared to deliver one of his killer spikes. On the other side of the net, T'Pol also eyed the ball, face impassive. They both jumped at the same moment, Trip's fist striking the ball like a hammer and sending it across the net at near-warp speed. T'Pol intercepted the ball with outstretched arms, redirecting it's trajectory to bounce off the deck behind Trip. His grin morphed into a startled expression, and the groans of his teammates were mixed with jeers from across the net. "Omigawd, sir, she TOASTED you!"

Trip retrieved the ball and tossed it over the net for the next serve. "Point to Ops. Four serving two." He clapped his hands, "C'mon Engineering, we need that ball back." He pointed at T'Pol, trying to ignore the smirks of her teammates. "You're eatin' the next one."

She looked back in that guileless manner she had, one eyebrow cocked. _Not fair,_ Trip thought, _She's deliberately trying to distract me with her 'Vulcan eyes'. She's so damn cute when she does that; she knows I can't resist._

Both sides were preparing for the next serve when the Captain's voice came over the shipboard address system, "Senior officers, report to the ready room."

T'Pol and Trip exchanged glances. "Sorry, folks," Trip said, "duty calls." T'Pol joined him and they both headed for the ready room. Behind them, the two sides exchanged good-natured barbs.

"Hey, Ops. You were saved by the bell. We were just gettin' ready to kick some butt."

"Who was kicking whose butt? You can't even count. Typical snipes."

"Deck apes."

"Grease monkeys."

"Swab jockeys."

"Knuckle draggers."

The door closed behind them, cutting off further banter. T'Pol glanced at Trip, "I 'toasted' you."

Trip had to grin. "Yes, and I'm sure you enjoyed every second of it."

She gave him her Vulcan eyes again. "Vulcans do not enjoy the 'toasting' of others. What I did was in your best interest, to prevent you from developing a 'big head'."

Trip chuckled, "Big head, huh? You're getting pretty good with human vernacular."

"I have little choice, since I am constantly bombarded with it. In any event, I find your colorful expressions interesting. They are quite a contrast to Vulcan speech."

"I'll bet." He looked up and down the passageway to make sure they were alone, then took her hand into his. Even though they were recently married, Starfleet still frowned on public displays of affection. As soon as their hands touched, he was flooded with the warmth of her presence. He sent a non-verbal message: *Tell the truth. You enjoyed showing me up in front of my men.*

*I cannot lie to my bond-mate. It was... satisfying. I will require an extra measure of meditation tonight to purge my amusement.*

Trip leered at her. *There will be no meditation for you. Tonight, you must attend to the physical needs of your husband, whom you have been grievously neglecting.*

*_You_ think four hours without physical intimacy is grievous neglect.*

*Is it my fault I can't get enough of you?* Trip protested. *I'm sorry to be such a burden, but you should have considered that before you agreed to marry me.*

T'Pol abandoned any attempt at jocularity and gazed directly into his eyes. *You are never a burden, my love. I am content.*

Trip's delight at her simple declaration was obvious, even without the bond. He fairly glowed with pleasure, and T'Pol basked in that glow. In all her years, she had never seen a relationship between Vulcans that approached what she shared with Trip. _Despite our differences and against all odds, he loves me in the way humans love each other, completely and without condition. It is not logical and I can not understand why. I can only accept it._

They released hands as they approached the turbolift, and waited in comfortable silence for the doors to open. The lift took them to Deck A, where the Captain and the other senior officers were waiting in the ready room.

"Evening, Captain," Trip said. He spotted two adjacent seats at the table and slid into one. T'Pol occupied the other.

Captain Archer nodded at them, noticing their athletic attire. "How'd the volleyball match turn out?"

"Operations took the first set, twenty-five to twenty," Trip replied. "The second set had just started when you called us to the ready room. You interrupted Engineering's big rally."

"The way I hear it, Ops is unbeatable," Archer said, deadpan. "They have a secret weapon named Commander T'Pol."

Trip snorted. "Strictly speaking, Commander T'Pol is First Officer, and therefore not part of Operations Department. I should file a formal complaint."

"I am also the Science Officer," T'Pol stated, "and Science Division _is_ part of Operations... strictly speaking." She favored Trip with an especially wide-eyed, innocent version of her 'Vulcan eyes'.

Trip threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, have it your way. Engineering will still beat Ops, secret weapon or not."

Archer watched the interplay between his two most senior officers, and marveled again at how much they had changed. T'Pol, once the prim and proper Vulcan, was no longer just an observer of life aboard _Enterprise,_ but a willing participant. Playing volleyball. Attending movie night. Eating finger foods with her hands. She even engaged, however clumsily, in the small talk and banter that passed between shipmates. As for his Chief Engineer, he had regained the fun-loving, devil-may-care attitude that had been his calling card before the triple tragedies of his sister's death, the losses suffered by _Enterprise_ in the Expanse, and the death of his cloned daughter. Despite Archer's initial misgivings at having a husband-wife pair aboard his ship, he was now glad of it. Clearly, Trip and T'Pol were good for each other.

Archer picked up a PADD from the table in front of him. It was time to get down to business. "I've just received new orders from Starfleet. We are to rendezvous with a Vulcan combat cruiser, the _Ki'Vaar_, and exchange liaison officers. These liaison officers will observe operations on their respective ships for a period of three months, after which they will report to a commission to help write the first draft of a Standard Operating Procedure for joint Starfleet-Vulcan operations. This SOP will cover all aspects of joint operations: Planning, command and control, communications, intelligence, training, logistics, and maintenance. With the Romulans trying to destabilize the entire region, I shouldn't have to tell anyone here how important this is. The closer we can work with the Vulcans, the more effective we'll be in combat."

There was a stir of barely-suppressed excitement around the table as Archer spelled out their orders, "We will rendezvous with _Ki'Vaar_ in approximately eighteen hours. The Vulcan liaison will be given access to ALL areas of the ship, and will not require an escort. That includes the armory and weapons systems, Mr. Reed."

Malcolm's lips tightened, but he nodded in agreement.

"I expect everyone to be professional, polite, and to answer his questions as best they can. Just remember, he is an observer, not a member of the crew. He can look, but not touch. Don't take orders from him, and don't give him your access codes. Any problems will be brought directly to me."

He continued, "I've been given some guidelines on how to select our liaison to the Vulcans." Everyone shifted eagerly in their seats, except for Trip and T'Pol, who both gave Archer a wary look. _That figures,_ Archer thought, _the one officer I have to send is the only one not champing at the bit to go._

Archer read the desired qualifications from the PADD: "The liaison officer must be a commissioned officer, above the rank of Lieutenant, with operational experience in communications, weapons, and propulsion systems, and significant command time on the bridge of a starship. Ability to speak Vulcan is a plus."

All eyes turned to T'Pol.

"Sorry, Commander," Archer said to her, "I hate to send you on a ninety-day mission so soon after your wedding, but you're clearly the most qualified."

Beneath the table, T'Pol touched Trip on the arm. *We will be separated, but not apart.*

*Never apart,* Trip agreed.

T'Pol nodded at Archer, "I will study the mission guidelines and review them with you at your convenience, Captain."

"Excellent," Archer said, thankful for T'Pol's quick acquiescence, "In the meantime, you are relieved of your other duties. Spend some time with your husband before you have to go."

"Not to worry, Captain. I'll see to that." Trip interjected.

"I'm sure you will," Archer said. There were smothered chuckles from around the table.

After taking care of a few routine matters of the 'while-I've-got-you here' variety, Archer dismissed his officers. On the way out, Lieutenant Reed touched Trip on the arm, "Commander, can we talk? Alone?" he asked, with a sidelong glance at T'Pol.

"I will be in our quarters, packing," T'Pol said.

Trip nodded, then turned his attention to the Lieutenant. "What's up, Malcolm?"

Malcolm waited until the passageway had cleared, trying not to fidget. "I need your advice."

"I've never had a shortage of that," Trip said, grinning. "If it's about engines, my advice is spot on. Anything else, you take your chances."

"I'll take my chances, then. It's about me and Hoshi."

Trip snorted. "Hoo-boy, you're taking a _big_ chance."

"Not really. At this point, I'm just exploring options."

"Options, huh? Something tells me this could take a while. Coffee?"

Malcolm shook his head, "No, thanks. This shouldn't take long, really. You probably aren't aware of this, but Hoshi and I have started... spending time with each other."

"Malcolm? The whole ship is aware of that."

"Oh." Malcolm flushed deeply. "Well, we have tried to be, uh, circumspect."

Trip had to chuckle at Malcolm's distress. He remembered all too well his own clumsy attempts at concealing his initial relationship with T'Pol. "Malcolm, you of all people must realize there are no secrets on a starship."

"I suppose not."

"So, Malcolm, how can I help?"

"If we... Hoshi and I... uh... if we were to, uh, marry... how could we get Starfleet to let us both stay on _Enterprise?_ Like you and T'Pol?"

Trip stared at his friend in surprise. "The two of you are already talking marriage? That's a little sudden, isn't it?"

"Actually, we're not--we haven't--discussed marriage. I told you, I'm just exploring options. Please, don't breathe a word of this to anyone. If this got back to Hoshi..."

"You would be dead meat. I know. Relax, your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you, Commander. So, hypothetically speaking, how could we stay together on _Enterprise_ if--IF--we were to marry?"

Trip sighed. "Sorry, Malcolm, I don't think it's possible."

"Not good enough, Commander. You and T'Pol were able to do it. How?"

Trip considered his reply for several long moments. "Okay, Malcolm, I'll tell you. Just don't _you_ breathe a word of this to anyone. It's a very sensitive subject with T'Pol and I don't want her to get hurt."

"Nor do I," Malcolm said, "I won't tell a soul."

"See that you don't." Trip paused to collect his thoughts. "The problem is Starfleet's policy prohibiting married couples in the same chain of command. The purpose is to prevent conflicts of interest or--more to the point--the appearance of conflicts of interest that might be prejudicial to good order and discipline."

"I'm aware of the intent of the policy, Commander. What I need to know is how to find a loophole."

"I'm getting to that," Trip said, "but I doubt if you'll find it helpful. The solution was to convince Starfleet that splitting us up was a bigger risk than keeping us together. Once they were convinced, they granted an exception to policy."

"Yes, yes, Commander. But HOW? How did you convince them?" Malcolm's frustration was palpable.

"Uh, do you know what pon farr is?"

"Of course," Malcolm replied, "the Vulcan mating process. It happens every seven years."

"Yes. It's very, uh, intense. If you know what I mean."

Malcolm reflected back to an incident three years prior, when an infection had sent T'Pol into a premature pon farr cycle. "I remember," he said. Indeed, he remembered all too vividly: A scantily clad T'Pol, hurling herself at him and begging--demanding--to be bedded... With an effort, he pulled his thoughts back to the present.

Trip continued his explanation. "We presented Starfleet with a scenario. A married senior officer goes into pon farr while on an extended mission, and she MUST mate with another person--not her husband--or she dies." Trip chuckled. "That's not exactly going to foster 'good order and discipline.' Starfleet decided they'd rather have us serving together than risk _that_ nightmare scenario."

Malcolm blinked.

"I told you it wouldn't be very helpful," Trip said.

"You were right. I doubt Starfleet will believe Hoshi is at risk of pon farr." He tried to suppress his disappointment, then another thought occurred to him, "So, who do you know in the Bureau of Personnel? You must have been pretty confident they would grant an exception before you and T'Pol were married. Maybe they can pull some strings for me?"

Trip shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know anyone at BuPers. Got lots of friends at BuShips, though."

"You were taking a rather big chance, weren't you? What if Starfleet had separated you?"

"Then one or both of us would have resigned."

Malcolm looked surprised, and Trip had to smile at his friend's discomfiture. "You asked for my advice, Malcolm, so here it is: If you aren't prepared to resign from Starfleet in order to be with Hoshi, then you probably shouldn't be thinking of marrying her."

Malcolm considered that for a moment. "It's not what I wanted to hear, but it's good advice. I'll give it some thought."

"Do that. In the meantime, I have some unfinished business to attend to before that Vulcan ship arrives." Trip winked at Malcolm and strolled down the passageway.

Malcolm watched as he left. Vivid images of T'Pol going through pon farr came unbidden to his mind. "Lucky stiff," he muttered to himself.

Trip headed straight to the quarters he shared with T'Pol, smiling with anticipation. He was mildly surprised to find her missing, but reasoned she had loose ends to tie up elsewhere. In the meantime, he busied himself by getting her bags and laying out her clothing. _The faster she packs, the more time we'll have for us._

He had finished with the clothing, and was starting to collect personal items T'Pol might need when the door slid open. T'Pol entered the room carrying a stack of folded Starfleet duty uniforms.

"I went to supply to get uniforms," she announced.

"Thanks, darlin', but my old uniforms are still good."

"They are for me, not you."

Trip's eyebrows went up. "Since when do you wear Starfleet issue?"

"I will be representing Starfleet, so I thought it would be appropriate to wear Starfleet uniforms. Also, Vulcan ships are warmer than human ships, so I will be comfortable even with the thinner material."

Trip took the stack of uniforms and set them with the other clothes. "Plus, you'll look fabulous in them," he said, grinning. "But then, you look fabulous in anything."

T'Pol nodded agreement, then busied herself placing clothes in her bags.

_Uh-oh,_ Trip thought, _Something's bugging her._ "T'Pol, are you okay?"

"I am fine."

_The standard T'Pol answer. She'd say 'I am fine' if her hair was on fire._ Trip reached over and touched her arm. *T'Pol, what's wrong?*

She stopped packing and sat on the edge of the bed. *I will not be welcome on the Vulcan ship.*

Trip sat beside her, taking her hand between both of his. *Maybe not right away, but once they get to know you, they will come to accept you.*

*You do not understand. I am anathema to most Vulcans. They believe I have abandoned Vulcan principles and Vulcan culture. The more they know of me, the more it will confirm what they already believe.*

*So, let them believe what they will. You and I both know the truth.*

*I am concerned that their perceptions of me will affect the mission; that they will not be forthcoming with the information and access I need to succeed. Captain Archer has placed his trust in me and I do not want to disappoint him.* T'Pol's thoughts came to Trip in a rush, swept along by an undercurrent of apprehension.

_Ah, there's the problem. Her overactive Vulcan sense of duty has kicked in._ *Looks to me like you're having an anxiety attack,* Trip sent, teasingly. He waited for her reflexive denial.

*Vulcans do not have anxiety attacks.*

*Of course not,* Trip agreed. *In any event, if you don't get the information you need because the Vulcans won't cooperate, it's not your failure. It's theirs. Nobody on _this_ ship will think any less of you, and who cares what the Vulcans think?*

*They are my people, Trip. Imagine the situation was reversed, and you had to choose between your people and me.*

*I would choose you.*

*As I chose you. But the choice would cause you some degree of anguish, would it not?*

Trip had to agree that it would. _I guess I never fully realized the price T'Pol has paid for her choices. After her first couple of years on __**Enterprise,**__ she could have had a promotion and her pick of duty assignments. The sky was the limit, but she gave it all up to accompany __**Enterprise**__ into the expanse, on a risky mission with little chance of success. Instead of the praise and admiration she deserves, she gets scorn and condemnation from her own countrymen._

*Sounds like you could use some meditation. Traditional or express?* Trip asked.

*There will be plenty of time for traditional meditation on the _Ki'Vaar_. For now, I would enjoy one of your 'express' meditations.*

*One express meditation coming up,* Trip sent with a grin. T'Pol snuggled into his arms and closed her eyes.

With practiced ease, Trip slipped into her mental landscape, and located the emotions that were unbalancing her. They were not hard to find. He gathered them up, absorbing them as a sponge absorbs water: apprehension over her mission; sadness, tinged with anger, at the disdain of her people.

There were a few other, lesser emotions: A surge of irritation at a piece of toast that had fallen from her tray that morning; impatience with a crewman who was late for duty; and some very unvulcan-like pleasure at winning the volleyball match. He absorbed those, as well.

He dealt with the emotions in an instinctively human manner, prioritizing them, attenuating their impact, and helping T'Pol integrate them back into her orderly Vulcan mind. Then he gently restored her essence to her newly-balanced emotional center. He had accomplished in moments what would have taken T'Pol nearly an hour of solitary meditation. It was indeed 'express'.

T'Pol was continually amazed at Trip's facility for handling raw emotions. Like most Vulcans, she lacked the human's perspective, the lifetime of experience that allowed him to distinguish the trivial emotions from the powerful. To her, they were equally difficult to suppress, and almost as dangerous if left unattended.

T'Pol opened her eyes, enjoying the feeling of peace and serenity that was the aftermath of meditation. She made no effort to move, being content for the moment in his embrace. *Thank you, Trip.*

*My pleasure, darlin'.*

Trip, for his part, was inordinately proud of his ability to facilitate T'Pol's meditation. In fact, he might have been quite insufferable, had it not been for the assistance he was receiving from T'Pol with regard to his own mind. He could well remember his embarrassment the first time she had remarked on the confused and chaotic nature of his thoughts. She had openly marveled that such an undisciplined mind was capable of coherent thought, much less higher-order thinking. She had offered to help him improve his mental functions.

At first, he had needed some persuading to overcome a fear of being turned into an emotionless Vulcan zombie (his words), but he had to admit the effort was paying off. Under T'Pol's careful tutelage, he was slowly (slowly!) learning to apply structure to his thoughts and bring order to the chaos. His memory was better, his thoughts clearer, and his mind sharper.

In addition to mental discipline, T'Pol also schooled Trip in the intricacies of Vulcan language and philosophy, which gave him insights into their culture, and--an added benefit--helped him understand some of the more perplexing traits of his wife. Trip returned the favor by teaching T'Pol how to tell jokes (with varying degrees of success).

"Computer, play music, playlist Tucker-oh-three, volume low, random shuffle." Trip intoned. Soft music filled the room.

"Computer, dim lights," Trip said.

The lights dimmed, and T'Pol tilted her head to look at Trip, her eyes glinting in the room's soft glow. *If this is a precursor to an intimate interlude, I should remind you I have not finished packing, and I must still review the mission parameters with the Captain.*

Trip snorted. "Well _that_ threw a wet blanket on my plans. I guess I'll go take a cold shower while you do your duty."

He began to stand up, but T'Pol stopped him with a touch of her hand. "Perhaps I have a duty to my husband as well..." She murmured, kissing him on the cheek.

Trip responded eagerly. For once, he had no complaints about her Vulcan sense of duty.

**Continued in Chapter 2**


	2. Chapter 2

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** M, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. T otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

**Note:** The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

**TWO**

_Enterprise,_ 9 May 2155

Captain Archer stood on the deck of the launch bay, watching Petty Officer Martinez going through the preflight checklist. Commander Tucker approached, alongside another officer with a duffel bag. Archer did a double-take when he realized the other officer was Commander T'Pol, wearing a Starfleet duty uniform. He nodded approvingly, "Commander, I like your new look."

"Thank you, Captain."

"I trust the two of you had an enjoyable morning?" Archer asked. The glance that flashed between them was all the answer he needed.

Trip replied, the barest trace of smile on his face, "It was nice, sir. Thanks for the time off."

"Don't mention it," Archer said. "The _Ki'Vaar_. arrived a couple of hours ago. They're keeping station on a parallel course. T'Pol, the shuttle that takes you over will return with the Vulcan liaison, a Sub-Commander Valak. Then each ship will go its merry way, until the next rendezvous at these same coordinates in ninety days. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Yes, Captain."

Petty Officer Martinez finished his preflight, and walked up to the group of officers. "Ready when you are, ma'am," he said, addressing Commander T'Pol.

"I will see you in three months," she said to Captain Archer, as she shouldered the strap of her duffel bag. She lifted a hand, touching Commander Tucker lightly on the arm. They gazed at each other for several seconds, then her hand dropped, and she walked to the shuttle without looking back.

Captain Archer gave Trip a puzzled look. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was definitely something uncanny about the way those two looked at each other. "I was expecting your and T'Pol's farewell to be a little more demonstrative," he probed, "this being your first lengthy separation since your wedding."

Trip smiled and shrugged, "As T'Pol might say; it was adequate."

####

The shuttlepod docked to the _Ki'Vaar_ without incident, and Petty Officer Martinez went back to help T'Pol with her bag. He followed her through the docking port, looking around with great curiosity at the Vulcan ship's interior.

Two Vulcans stood just inside the docking area, regarding T'Pol and Martinez with blank expressions. One of them had two bags on the deck by his feet. "Are you T'Pol?" he asked.

"Yes," she acknowledged.

"That's _Commander_ T'Pol," Martinez corrected. The Vulcans glanced dismissively at Martinez, then turned their attention back to T'Pol.

"Is that your mate?" the Vulcan with the bags asked.

"No," T'Pol answered," This is Petty Officer Martinez, the shuttlepod pilot. My mate is Commander Tucker. You will meet him when you get to _Enterprise_."

"So, it is true what they say. You have mated with a human."

"Yes."

T'Pol's answer was followed by a long silence. Martinez could feel the tension in the air. "Commander, are you going to be okay here by yourself?" he asked in a soft voice. His question was intended for T'Pol only, but the Vulcans, with their sensitive ears, heard it clearly.

"I will be fine," T'Pol answered, loud enough for all to hear. "Sub-Commander Valak--I must assume he is Valak since he did not have the courtesy to introduce himself--believes that my time aboard _Enterprise_ has tainted me and made me less of a Vulcan. He is demonstrating his disapproval of me by treating me rudely."

"You have turned your back on everything that makes us who we are," Valak said, "Disapproval is only logical."

_It is as I expected. I am being shunned._ T'Pol thought. "Petty Officer, please carry Sub-Commander Valak's bags aboard the shuttlepod."

"Aye, Commander." Martinez retrieved both bags and disappeared onto the shuttlepod.

Valak started to follow, but stopped when T'Pol addressed him: "Sub-Commander,"

Valak raised an expectant eyebrow.

T'Pol continued, "The Captain of _Enterprise_ is Jonathon Archer. He will undoubtedly invite you to dine at his table one evening soon after you arrive. That is the custom among humans. When you take the first bite of your food, you must not swallow it. Spit it onto your plate and complain of its taste. They will bring you another plate. This ritual is how the guest at a human table assures his host that he is willing to let the host know of any problems. The Captain will be impressed that you are aware of this tradition."

"A very strange tradition," Valak mused, "It was good that you thought to inform me." With that he entered the shuttlepod, and the port closed behind him.

T'Pol watched at the port while the shuttlepod undocked and pulled away. Her features were carefully neutral, but her eyes betrayed a very un-Vulcan amusement. _I have just played my first 'practical joke'. Trip will be proud of me._

She turned to the remaining Vulcan and looked at his uniform, which was out of place on a starship. "You are with the Directorate of Security."

"Yes. I am Lieutenant Sprel. I have been assigned to watch you while you are on _Ki'Vaar_."

"Watch me?"

"My instructions are to accompany you everywhere."

"I am to be allowed no privacy?"

"No, you are not considered trustworthy by some at Fleet Headquarters. I am to take you to your quarters until Captain Savok calls for you."

T'Pol shouldered her bag and followed Lieutenant Sprel. "You have been given an unusual assignment for an officer in the Security Directorate. It does not seem to be an efficient use of resources."

"There is a faction within the High Command and at Fleet Headquarters opposed to closer relations with Earth. When it became clear that the Liaison program would go forward, the opposition faction demanded stricter security measures. My assignment is a result of that compromise."

"To which faction do you belong?" T'Pol asked.

Sprel hesitated. "I am undecided."

The remainder of the way was spent in silence. Sprel came to a door, opened it, and ushered T'Pol into a small stateroom. There were two bunks and one desk.

Sprel indicated one of the bunks, "That one is yours." He seated himself on the other.

T'Pol sat her bag on the deck and looked at Sprel. "We are sharing quarters?"

"Yes."

"At one time this would have been considered inappropriate. Many things have changed since I last served on a Vulcan ship."

"It is still inappropriate, but I have my orders." To his credit, Sprel seemed uncomfortable about the situation.

T'Pol turned to her bunk and lifted the top, exposing storage space below. She methodically began removing items from her bag and stowing them away. When she reached the bundle of uniforms, she paused, perplexed by an unfamiliar lump in the cloth. Pulling back the fold, she found a small, brown teddy bear with a note attached. _Trip_. Gently, she lifted the bear from the bag and read the note:

_ T'Pol,  
I'm sending this little fellow to keep you company  
while you're away. He is under STRICT orders to  
remind you at every opportunity that you are my love  
and my life._

_ God keep you and bring you back safely to me._

_ -- Trip_

_ P.S. He needs a name. I'll leave that detail to you._

T'Pol lifted the small bear to her cheek, feeling its softness against her skin, smelling Trip's familiar scent. _Trip, my love..._

"What is that?" Sprel asked.

"It is called a 'stuffed animal'. A gift from my husband."

T'Pol started to store the bear under the bunk, then changed her mind. She placed it in one of the baggy side pockets of her duty uniform and zippered it closed. _I couldn't have done that in my old uniform,_ she thought with satisfaction.

She finished unpacking, closed the bunk top, and sat facing Sprel. She shut her eyes, slowed her breathing, and _reached..._ *Trip...*

Back on _Enterprise,_ Commander Tucker was accompanying Captain Archer and Doctor Phlox on a tour of the ship with Sub-Commander Valak. Trip felt the familiar warmth of T'Pol's presence in his mind, and hastily excused himself. Finding a secluded corner, he leaned against the bulkhead and slipped into a meditative state, as T'Pol had taught him. *Hey, darlin'.*

*Thank you for the bear, my husband. It was most unexpected.*

*That was the idea. So, how are things going on your end?*

*Not well,* T'Pol confided, *It is as I feared. I may require your assistance meditating tonight.*

*Always happy to help. By the way, that liaison officer, Sub-Commander Valak? He is a pompous ass.*

*I cannot disagree with you. Has the Captain invited him to dinner?*

*Yes. Tomorrow night.* Trip answered, perplexity coming across the bond.

*Good. Make sure you are there, also. That is a dinner you will not want to miss.*

*Really? Why?* Perplexity was now tinged with suspicion.

*I will not tell you. It is a surprise.*

*T'Pol? Did you just _giggle?_*

*Certainly not.*

*No, of course not. Okay, I'll make sure I'm at that dinner.* Realizing no more information would be forthcoming, he changed the subject: *Have you given your bear a name?*

*No, not yet.*

*What are you waiting for? The little guy needs a name.*

*I have no experience naming stuffed animals,* T'Pol protested.

*C'mon, T'Pol, how hard can it be? Just pick a name that feels right. Frank. Earl. Sam. You can't go around calling him 'hey, you'.*

*Why not? It is a good name.*

*What, Frank?*

*No. Hey-you. His name is Hey-you.*

Trip laughed, and T'Pol reveled in that laughter. His delight filled her with a sense of wonder and well-being.

T'Pol heard Sprel stirring across the room. *Trip, I must go,* she sent, reluctantly.

*Okay.* Trip replied. His laughter had diminished to an occasional chuckle. *Take good care of Hey-you.* That set him off laughing, all over again.

She opened her eyes to find Sprel staring at her, suspicion on his face. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I was naming my bear. His name is Hey-you."

Suspicion was replaced by confusion. "Bear? What do you mean?"

She pulled Hey-you from her pocket and held it up for Sprel to see. "This is a facsimile of an Earth creature called a bear. A bear is similar to a sehlat, in size and disposition. I was choosing a name for it."

"It looked like you were meditating," he said, unconvinced.

"Meditating? For one minute? Not even Surak could meditate that quickly." T'Pol pointed out. Then, to herself, _But Trip can._

"I suppose not," Sprel conceded, "but I do not understand why you would assign a name to an inanimate object."

"It is something humans do," T'Pol said. She doubted she could have explained how much Trip's simple gesture meant to her if she wanted to, and she most definitely did not want to.

"You are not human."

"No, I am Vulcan," T'Pol said, pointedly.

Sprel lapsed into silence.

Less than an hour later, they received a call informing them that the Captain was ready to see her. T'Pol stood and allowed Sprel to escort her to the Captain's briefing room, where Captain Savok and his staff had gathered. She entered the room and sat in the indicated chair. Six senior officers stared at her with varying degrees of hostility and mistrust.

An elderly Vulcan male bearing Captain's rank on his collar addressed her, "Commander T'Pol, I am Captain Savok. You have been assigned to my ship, against my better judgment. You were born Vulcan, but you wear the uniform of a foreign service. It is a sight I never thought to see. I need to know where your loyalties lie."

T'Pol did not waver under his gaze. "Sir, I am loyal to Vulcan."

"So you say. Did you not swear an oath to Earth?"

"Yes, but Earth is an ally of Vulcan. My loyalties do not conflict."

"We are allies for the moment. If that were to change, if it came to war between Earth and Vulcan, what then?"

T'Pol was taken aback by the question. _They are demanding that I choose._ She hesitated, then said, "I would do my duty."

"And what is that?"

"My oath to Starfleet requires me to defend Earth against all enemies. I _will_ honor my oath. If Vulcan becomes an enemy of Earth, I will have no choice but to fight Vulcan."

The officers around the table stirred at her statement.

Savok had T'Pol where he wanted her, and he pressed his advantage. "By your own admission, your loyalty to a foreign nation takes precedence over any loyalty you may have to Vulcan. You have turned away from Vulcan and its people, discarded our traditions, and defied our customs. In view of this, I must regard you as an unacceptable security risk aboard my vessel."

"You are forgetting two things, Captain," T'Pol said, evenly. She felt anger stirring within her, but held it firmly in check. "First, Vulcan and Earth are still allies; hence there is no conflict in my loyalties. Second, I have orders directing me to act as a liaison to this ship for the next ninety days. I presume you have similar orders. Does not _your_ duty to Vulcan require you to carry out your orders?"

"Those orders are detrimental to Vulcan's interests, and will cause grave damage in the future." Savok stated.

"That is your opinion, sir. It is not a fact."

Savok stared at T'Pol for several seconds, then gestured to Sprel. "Return her to her quarters, Lieutenant."

T'Pol stood and exited the room, Sprel falling in behind her.

Sprel moved alongside T'Pol in the passageway. "Commander, there is something you need to know," he said, after they were well out of earshot of the briefing room.

"What is it?"

"Captain Savok was attempting to provoke you into an emotional outburst. If he had succeeded, it would have been grounds for your removal from his ship."

"That would explain his offensive behavior," T'Pol noted. "I am grateful you have told me this."

"There is more," Sprel said. He seemed extremely uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "The reason he believed he could provoke you is because he has seen your medical record. We have all seen it."

T'Pol was stunned by this latest revelation. "Are medical records not private? How did they get away with that?"

"I do not know. All I know is Captain Savok gave your records to us--his staff and myself--to review. They were concerned by what they found."

"What did they find?" T'Pol asked, although she suspected she knew the answer. _It must be my breakdown,_ she thought. Twenty-one years ago, she had experienced an emotional breakdown after killing an unarmed man while serving as an officer with the V'Shar, the intelligence agency within the Security Directorate. She had gone through a Fullara ritual to suppress the memories of that killing.

Sprel hesitated, "It might be harmful for me to tell you."

"If you are referring to the Fullara ritual I underwent, you may speak of it. I have fully regained those memories."

Sprel raised an eyebrow. "I did not believe that memories suppressed by the Fullara could ever be regained."

"Much of what you believe may be in error," T'Pol stated, "Just as Captain Savok is wrong in his assessment of me, and wrong to believe that a closer alliance with Earth endangers Vulcan."

They arrived at their shared stateroom and seated themselves once more on their respective bunks.

"Captain Savok felt that your emotional collapse while with the V'Shar indicated you would be susceptible to emotional outbursts. He saw it as a sign of weakness. He was wrong."

"Why are you telling me this?" T'Pol asked, genuinely curious.

"You asked me which faction I supported, and I told you I was undecided," Sprel said. "I am not sure I support the faction for a stronger alliance with Earth, but I am quite sure I oppose Captain Savok's faction. He has behaved without honor or logic. He has condemned you without first trying to know you." He paused, and although there were no physical indications, T'Pol could tell he was working to restrain his emotions. "There is much in your records that I found troubling, yet upon meeting you, I have had to revise my preconceptions. Unlike Captain Savok, you have conducted yourself with both honor and dignity in the face of severe provocation."

"Thank you for that," T'Pol said, "Now perhaps you can answer one more question?"

"I will try."

"Am I to spend the entire ninety days of my assignment confined to this room?"

Sprel considered her question. "I think your comment to the Captain regarding his duty to carry out his orders made an impact. I do not believe he will be able to keep you confined indefinitely, but he will not do anything to make your job easier." His voice took on a hopeful quality as he continued, "However, while we are here, you can use the opportunity to tell me what it's like living among humans. I would welcome your insights, since you have more experience by far than any other Vulcan."

"I will agree to that," T'Pol said, "but in exchange, you must help me with _my_ mission. I will not return empty-handed. Bring me the latest manuals and operating procedures. Bring me supply lists and equipment specifications. Take me to engineering. Let me observe personnel doing routine maintenance."

Sprel looked troubled. "I doubt any of those activities would be approved."

"I am sure you're right," T'Pol agreed, "but humans have a saying which is applicable here: It is often easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission."

Sprel struggled to contain his surprise. "That saying implies an appalling lack of discipline."

"Once I would have agreed with you," T'Pol said, "but it is actually one of their many strengths, which we Vulcans are prone to overlook. I can give you numerous examples that I have personally observed."

After a thoughtful pause, Sprel agreed. "I will bring you the operational procedures tonight. Tomorrow we will visit engineering."

If T'Pol had not been Vulcan, she would have smiled.

####

_ "You think Von loves you, T'Sau? Because  
he takes you to his bed? Because he gives  
you shiny baubles to wear? Because he  
whispers poetry in your ear?"_

"He does love me, T'Kasa, he does. So he  
has told me, with his lips and his eyes.  
I excite him in ways you have forgotten, if  
indeed you ever knew how"

T'Kasa's eyes flashed with anger and her  
hand drew back to deliver a blow that never  
came. "No," she said, lowering her hand,  
"I will not punish you. I will save that  
task for Von himself. I do believe he enjoys  
discarding his toys almost as much as  
acquiring them."

_T'Sau recoiled in horror as the pot roast of  
__T'Kasa's words--  
_

Trip blinked. _Pot roast? Damned translator._ He set aside the PADD he was reading, closed his eyes, and _reached..._ *Hey, darlin'.*

*Yes, my love?* T'Pol responded.

*Are you busy?*

*I am teaching my roommate about humans; he is fascinated by the subject. But I can give you a minute.*

*Roommate? He? Is this something I should know about?*

*It is complicated; I will tell you later. How can I help you, Trip?*

*I'm reading some pre-Awakening Vulcan literature. Lemme tell you, this is racy stuff. Anyway, the translator is having trouble with some of the words. What does kahl-va'pralah mean?*

*I am a little rusty in the early dialects myself, but I believe it means 'suggestion'. No, 'implication' or 'insinuation would be better translations.*

*So it doesn't mean 'pot roast'?*

*No, my love.*

*Okay, thanks. Say goodnight to Hey-you for me.*

*I will. Good night, Trip.* T'Pol opened her eyes.

Sprel was watching her, looking perplexed. "Were you naming your bear again?"

**Continued in Chapter 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** R, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. G otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

**Note:** The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

**THREE**

_Ki'Vaar_, 14 May 2155

T'Pol stood on the bridge and carried out her mission. She would have been more comfortable sitting, but Captain Savok made it clear there were no spare seats on the bridge. 'Spare' clearly did not mean 'unoccupied', T'Pol thought, as she glanced around the bridge at several vacant seats. Still, she was on the bridge observing, and that was a large part of her mission. The other parts were also falling into place, with the covert assistance of the able Lieutenant Sprel.

*Hey, darlin'...*

*Yes, my love?*

*How are things?*

*Exactly the same as they were thirty minutes ago.*

*Great. So, what does 'rau-tapor' mean?

*I believe it means to strike back, as in a fight.*

*It doesn't mean to pass gas?*

*No, Trip. Perhaps you should have Hoshi look at your translation program.*

*Yeah, good idea. I'll let you get back to work before someone thinks you're sleeping on the job.*

*That won't be necessary. I have taught myself to enter a meditative state with my eyes open.*

Trip was impressed. *Really? I've tried that, but my vision is too distracting. My engineers catch me with my eyes shut so often, they all think I have narcolepsy.*

*I will show you how tonight.*

*Great!* Trip sent. *Give Hey-you a pat from me.*

T'Pol unobtrusively let her hand tap the small lump in the side pocket where Hey-you spent his days.

Her attention snapped back to the bridge at what she heard next from the comm station: "Captain, I'm receiving a distress call from an Antaran vessel."

T'Pol watched as the Vulcan crew swung into action. They quickly determined the location of the vessel--a class L planet, three hours away at high warp--and set a course to render assistance.

The ship was an Antaran ore carrier, large and ponderous, with a hold full of topaline ore. It had lost all power to its propulsion systems and was in a decaying orbit. Databases were checked, sensor scans run, and a determination made that the crew would be evacuated first, then the vessel pulled into a stable orbit using tractor beams--a risky process given the extreme mass of the ore carrier. As T'Pol watched, she made notes in a PADD, knowing that the notes would be reviewed by the Captain or one of his officers 'for breaches of security' at the end of the day.

Sprel joined her on the bridge while they were still an hour away from the ore carrier. "I can speak to the Captain about allowing you a chair."

"I require no chair," T'Pol said. "Do not ask for one. The less Captain Savok is reminded of my presence, the better I can do my job."

"Very well. While we wait, perhaps you can tell me how humans would handle this situation?"

"Are humans your sole interest? You never ask or speak of anything else."

"You are not the foremost Vulcan authority on any of my other interests."

"Logical," T'Pol agreed. "There is little operational difference in the human approach to this situation, other than the fact that human ships are not equipped with tractor beams. But there are other differences."

"What are those differences?"

T'Pol indicated the Vulcans at their stations. "Listen. What do you hear?"

Sprel stood for a moment, listening intently. "I hear the warp drive. Ventilation fans. Background noise."

"On a human ship, you would also hear the bridge crew talking to each other. Idle speculation. Personal conversations unrelated to the mission. Jokes and other forms of Humor."

"It sounds inefficient," Sprel noted.

"Actually, it seems to enhance their efficiency, by reducing emotional tension and allowing them to better focus on their duties. Humans _feel_ every emotion that Vulcans suppress. They cannot store them to be dealt with later; they must confront them in real time. When a human speaks of courage, he means the ability to do his job while simultaneously dealing with extreme fear. To appreciate how difficult that is for humans, try going on a dangerous mission after skipping meditation for a week."

"I could not function without meditation," Sprel admitted. "My emotions would overwhelm me."

"That is what it is like every day for humans. Do not make the mistake of thinking them weak or illogical because they handle emotions differently."

"I will not," Sprel said.

_Emotions can overwhelm humans, too._ T'Pol thought. _I have seen it. And I have seen them get up the next day and face death and destruction all over again. And again. And again. No, they are not weak._

T'Pol remembered when _Enterprise_ first entered the Expanse. Two Vulcan ships had previously been lost there and tensions were running high; nobody knew what to expect. Then the sensor operator said, 'Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas any more,' and the mood lightened immediately. She had been impressed by the power of that simple, apparently nonsensical statement. She remembered it, and months later, asked Trip about it. That night, he introduced her to 'The Wizard of Oz'.

T'Pol was captivated. She identified with the human child, Dorothy, who longed for something more than she could have. T'Pol had felt similar longings as a child--and, truth be told--as an adult as well. She was moved by the song, 'Over the Rainbow,' in ways she could not understand at the time. That night, in her quarters, she played it over and over.

####

The topaline ore in the Antaran vessel interfered with _Ki'Vaar's_ sensors and transporters, so she was forced to dock with the stricken ore carrier. This added another quarter-hour to the approach time. Once the docking seals had engaged, the rescue team made its way onto the oar ship. Seconds later, a series of well-placed particle beams disabled the Vulcan cruiser's communication arrays, and a contingent of armed Andorians stormed aboard _Ki'Vaar_.

Several moments of confusion ensued, as the bridge crew attempted to determine what was happening; sorting through conflicting reports and sensor readings. The realization that the ship had been boarded came quickly, and Captain Savok calmly fired off orders: He had power to the lifts cut, sealed doors throughout the ship, and had security teams sent to engage the attackers. Then he went to the comm station to see if he could help re-establish a subspace link with Vulcan. T'Pol had to admit that whatever else Captain Savok may have been, he was a competent ship's commander.

Sprel looked at T'Pol. "Stay here. I'm going to help the security teams."

"I'm going with you," she replied. Sprel started to object, changed his mind, and jogged away. T'Pol followed.

Sprel led her to the nearest arms locker, one deck below and just aft of the bridge. The locker was already open and an officer with ship's security was distributing weapons to his team. He handed one to Sprel without question, but hesitated when T'Pol presented herself.

"I can shoot," T'Pol said. The officer tossed her a weapon, which she deftly caught. She checked the charge and the settings, and took her place with Sprel and the rest of the security team, awaiting orders.

Those orders never came. A series of small explosive charges blew a hole in the bulkhead farther aft, and a grenade arced through the opening. The last thing T'Pol remembered was Sprel pushing her back, yelling for her to get down. Then a flash, and darkness...

####

*T'POL! WHAT HAPPENED!? WHAT'S WRONG!? T'POL, ANSWER ME!*

*Trip...*

*T'Pol? Are you okay? I felt something through the bond, then you were _gone_.*

*My head... hurts...*

*I know, darlin', I can feel it. What happened?*

Memory came rushing back to her, and she became aware of her surroundings. She was lying on a hard surface. She forced her eyes open and tried to sit up. A wave of dizziness forced her back down. *...answered a distress call ...was a trap ...boarded by ...Andorians.*

*T'Pol, did they take the ship?*

*do not... know. head hurts.* Normally, T'Pol could have suppressed the pain in the same way she suppressed emotions, but her mind was still too muzzy from the aftereffects of the stun grenade.

*I think I can help with that.* Trip eased into her mind, as he did when he helped her meditate, but instead of emotions, he absorbed the pain. It hurt like hell.

The results of Trip's ministrations were dramatic. T'Pol's pain receded to a dull ache, which she could easily ignore. *Thank you, Trip.*

*Damn, that really _hurts_! Are you sure you're alright?*

*It was a stun grenade. I am fine.* Already her thoughts were clearer. She rose up on one arm. All around her lay unmoving Vulcan crew members. _Unconscious. Or dead._ She crawled to the nearest, checking his pulse. He was stunned, but otherwise appeared unharmed. The crewman next to him was likewise stunned; she recognized him as a member of the security team she had tried to join. _The same stun grenade must have got both of us._

*T'Pol. Who's got the ship?*

T'Pol looked around. She was in the _Ki'Vaar's_ shuttle bay. There were armed Andorians lining the wall of the bay opposite the launch doors. She observed with interest that they were not in uniform, and their bearing was decidedly nonmilitary. Not at all like the disciplined soldiers of the Imperial Guard. _Are they pirates?_ she wondered.

A small cluster of ambulatory Vulcans sat in one corner, with Andorian guards holding weapons on them. While she watched, a door to the rest of the ship opened, and a group of Andorians entered, carrying two limp Vulcan bodies, which they dumped unceremoniously with the others.

*The Andorians have taken the ship,* T'Pol sent. *How long was I out?*

*Twenty minutes. And believe me, darlin', it was the longest twenty minutes of my life!*

*Twenty minutes? Are you sure?* T'Pol asked, surprised. *I was ten meters from an Andorian stun grenade. I should have been out for an hour.*

*I may have had something to do with that. When you were knocked out, I knew it right away. I was frantic with worry. I just grabbed at you, I mean, at your mind. I took hold of your mind, and tried to pull you back. It's hard to explain.*

*I understand.*

*Anyway, my engineering gang thought I was having a seizure. They took me to sickbay. Phlox has me on all kinds of monitoring machines, and pumped up with stimulants. Pulling you back took a lot out of me.*

*Trip, I'm going to see if I can get more information. You just rest, now.*

*T'Pol, be careful. You're hurt.*

She could sense apprehension churning beneath his facade of calm. _I should try to ease his worry._ She recalled a similar situation, when an injured Trip had soothed a worried Captain Archer with a single statement. *You should see the other guy.*

Trip chuckled, and the worry receded. T'Pol was satisfied with the result. _I have no idea what it means, but it worked._

She stood, slowly, not entirely trusting her legs to support her. Within seconds, two Andorians were upon her. One pushed her to her knees, while the other kept his weapon trained on her.

"Where are you going, Vulcan?"

"To rejoin my shipmates."

"First you will be searched."

He began running his hands over her body, lingering in certain areas. "I think you are enjoying this," he said, his tone oozing smugness.

_How would a human respond to that?_ "In your dreams, Andorian."

The Andorian with the weapon broke into harsh laughter. "Why, Joras, I don't believe she likes you."

Joras glared at his partner and continued his search in a brisker manner. T'Pol blinked in surprise. _It worked. Again. Perhaps there is some logic behind these human sayings._

"What is that on your finger?"

"It is a wedding ring."

"Vulcans don't wear rings. Give it to me," Joras demanded.

T'Pol removed the ring and handed it to the Andorian. _Trip will be upset if I lose this._

The Andorian turned the ring over in his hand, examining it closely. He squinted at the inscription inside the band, but was unable to read it. He jiggled it in his hands, judging its weight. "Is this silver?"

"No. It is an alloy of aluminum, zinc and magnesium."

This puzzled the Andorian. "Why would anyone wear an ornament made of such common elements?"

"My husband made it from a section of eight-gauge coolant pipe. I wear it to please him."

Joras sneered. "Your husband clearly values you very little." He tossed the ring over his shoulder, and it went skittering across the deck. He continued his search, his fingers probing at the lump in her pocket. He reached in and grasped Hey-you.

He dangled the bear before T'Pol. "What is this, Vulcan?"

"It is... nothing." She reached to take it back from him.

He slapped her hand down and grinned. "Nothing? Then you won't care if I do _this_." He dropped the bear to the deck and ground it beneath the heel of his boots.

T'Pol went rigid, but otherwise betrayed no emotion.

Joras completed his search. "She has nothing of value," he declared. "I'll put her with the others."

"Wait," the Andorian with the weapon said, "Perhaps you should ask her why she is wearing a different uniform from everyone else."

T'Pol preempted the question. "I am a Starfleet officer."

Joras looked blank, but the other Andorian said, "Ah, yes. Earth. Vulcan's latest ally." He motioned in the direction of the group of Vulcans, "Take her. I will tell _him_ what we've found. I think he will be pleased." He headed for an exit, moving quickly.

Joras dragged T'Pol to her feet, and walked her to the corner, helping her along with little pushes to the small of her back. When they reached the other Vulcans, he shoved her back down. "On your knees, Starfleet."

All told, there were twelve in the group, including Captain Savok. He had a cut above his right eyebrow, and green blood flowed down his cheek.

She was brought up to date on the situation. The Andorian assault had quickly overwhelmed Vulcan resistance, through speed and numbers. Remarkably, no one was killed, as the Andorians seemed to be making an effort to keep everyone alive. Just prior to the bridge being overrun, they had detected two Orion slave ships entering orbit from the planet's surface. Those two ships could now be seen through the view ports along the shuttle bay's exterior bulkheads. They seemed to be holding position and waiting. For what, no one knew. Worst of all--from the Vulcans perspective--the damage inflicted to the comm systems had prevented Fleet Headquarters from being notified of the disaster.

_They do not know that Starfleet is aware of our situation, and I must not tell them. If our captors found out about my bond with Trip, they would find some way to sever it. Probably by killing me._

Over time, more of the _Ki'Vaar's_ crew recovered consciousness, and joined the group in the corner. One of those was Sprel. After checking in with the Captain, he came and sat next to T'Pol.

"After the Andorians searched me, I stumbled and fell. I was able to retrieve this without them noticing." Her wedding ring lay in the palm of his extended hand.

"Thank you, Sprel." She took it from him and slipped it onto her finger.

"I read the inscription," Sprel said. "It was most... surprising. As well as enlightening."

"In what way?" T'Pol asked, cautiously.

"I know what you were doing all those times you were 'naming your bear'. You have a telepathic bond with your husband."

T'Pol hesitated. She could overcome her reluctance at sharing such intimate information with Sprel--in the five days they had been together, she had come to trust and respect him--but she also wanted to keep the knowledge of her bond from their captors, and the more who knew of it, the more likely it was to be discovered. _He already knows. I may as well take him into my confidence._

"Yes, we are bond mates," she admitted.

"Are you and your husband _truly_ k'hat'n'dlawa?"

K'hat'n'dlawa. The Vulcan phrase Trip had engraved inside their wedding bands, it translated to 'half of each other's heart and soul', and was the most intimate, most powerful, and most uncommon of all bonds between Vulcans.

"Yes."

"How is that possible?" Sprel wondered. "Your mate, he is human."

"It is _because_ he is human that this bond is possible. No Vulcan since the Awakening could have helped me withstand the passions required to forge such a bond; I would have been consumed by them. My k'diwa loves me in a way that Vulcans no longer can, and he lends me his strength so that I can love him in return, without being destroyed by it."

Sprel was shocked into silence by T'Pol's frank admission of such strong emotions.

"My husband has informed Starfleet of our situation. Starfleet has informed Vulcan. I am in constant touch with him. You can tell no one--_NO ONE_--about my bond. If the Andorians find out, we will lose our only means to communicate. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sprel said, slowly, "Yes, I understand."

They were interrupted by the loud clang of a docking port opening. Three Orion slavers stepped through and were met by a contingent of Andorians, who brought them over to where the Vulcans were being held.

The Andorians walked among the Vulcans, checking the rank on their uniforms, and pulling aside all the junior crewmen. These were herded over to the Orions, and shackled together into long lines. The Orions prodded and dragged the shackled crewmen, some twenty-five in total, through the docking port and onto a waiting shuttle. The port clanged shut and the shuttle departed for the Orion slave ships. Shortly thereafter, the Orion ships departed at high warp.

The remaining twenty Vulcans, all officers and senior crewmen, were relocated from the shuttle bay to the crew's mess. As their Andorian guards herded them through the door, T'Pol paused to look back at Hey-you's tiny form lying on the deck. A savage push from a guard started her moving again.

####

Trip stood over Lieutenant Commander Kelby's shoulder and watched as he made some minor tweaks to the flow regulators. _He hates it when I do this,_ Trip thought, _but I don't care. I'm leaving nothing to chance._ Trip had just come from sickbay, and was making sure every last bit of speed was being squeezed from his engines. _The sooner we get there, the sooner we rescue T'Pol._

*Trip...*

*Hey, darlin'*

*Captain Savok has gathered his officers, and is being briefed. You should observe.*

*I'd love to. How, exactly?* Trip asked.

*You can see and hear through me. I will show you.* She led him into a portion of her mind he had not visited before, and...

"Whoa!" Trip exclaimed aloud, as he was suddenly confronted with a whole new visual vista. Kelby looked up in alarm, thinking he had done something wrong.

*I'm gonna have to sit down for this one.* Trip sent. He slid to the deck and closed his eyes, leaning against the bulkhead. To Kelby, it looked as if Trip had just fainted. He wasted no time calling sickbay.

Trip was oblivious to Kelby's anxious call to Phlox, and his follow-on call to the bridge. He was concentrating on the new visual and auditory feeds coming from T'Pol; it was a novel experience. He saw what she saw and heard what she heard, as if he were standing there himself. She was in the crew's mess of the Vulcan ship, and was one of several Vulcans standing or sitting around an impromptu conference area. They were all facing two officers, one of whom wore captain's rank.

*That must be good ol' Captain Savok,* Trip sent.

*It is,* T'Pol confirmed, *and the other is Commander Serol, his First Officer.*

Savok was addressing the group, "...has summarized events so we can all understand what happened. After that, we will determine what we must do next. Proceed, Commander."

Commander Serol, In true Vulcan fashion, did not waste time with a preamble. "I have debriefed everyone here and constructed a detailed scenario."

*He did not debrief _me_.* T'Pol noted.

*No surprise there.* Trip's comment dripped with scorn.

Serol continued, "When we approached the Antaran ore carrier, we were unable to get effective sensor scans of the vessel. This did not alarm anyone, because of the topaline ore she carried. We did not see that she also carried thirty-six armed Andorians and four particle beam turrets disguised as external coolant radiators."

*A Q-ship,* Trip sent.

* ??? * T'Pol's reply was the mental equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

Trip explained. *In Earth history, a Q-ship was a merchant vessel that appeared harmless, but carried concealed armaments. They were used against commerce raiders and submarines.*

Serol went on with his summary, "As soon as our rescue party boarded the oar carrier, they were stunned with phase pistols, and the carrier's disrupters were fired at our communication arrays. This disabled our long range communications, preventing us from sending messages to Fleet Headquarters. At this time, Vulcan has not been informed of our situation."

*Oh, yes they have,* Trip sent, smugly.

*Hush, my love. Listen.*

"The Andorians assaulted _Ki'Vaar_ with six teams of six. Two teams were tasked with capturing engineering, two teams with taking the bridge, and two teams with securing the central areas of the ship. The teams were equipped with phase rifles, stun grenades, and cutting charges for blowing through bulkheads, doors and hatches. They had prior knowledge of the layout of the ship, and were in complete control within fifteen minutes of boarding."

T'Pol became aware of a commotion on Trip's side of the mind link. *Sorry, T'Pol,* Trip sent, *Phlox thought I was having a medical emergency. I set him straight.*

They turned their attention back to the summary: "In addition, two Orion slave ships were in concealed positions on the planet's surface, likely on or near sensor-obscuring topaline deposits. After the _Ki'Vaar_ was secured, the Orion ships lifted into orbit, took possession of all our junior crewmen, and left orbit under warp. The Andorians have shut down and ejected our warp core, which, along with a hold-full of debris from the ore carrier, was set to re-enter the planet's atmosphere. To a cursory scan, it will appear as if the _Ki'Vaar_ had burned up on reentry. The oar carrier has extended a warp field around _Ki'Vaar_, and is taking us to an unknown destination. Our best estimates have us making between warp 2.5 and 3.0. These are the salient facts." Commander Serol turned back to his Captain, indicating he was finished.

*He left out a couple of 'salient facts',* Trip suggested, *such as _Enterprise_ is heading for the ambush site at max warp. We'll arrive in a little under six days. _Columbia_ and the Vulcan cruiser _Ti'Mur_ are on their way to intercept those Orion slave ships. Two more Vulcan ships have been dispatched to the ambush site. They're a couple of days behind us.*

*It will reveal our bond if I give that information to anyone. Anyone but Sprel; he knows of the bond already.*

*T'Pol, was that wise?*

*He found out on his own.* T'Pol quickly filled Trip in on how Sprel had returned her ring and learned of the bond. Then, *Listen, Captain Savok is speaking now...*

"We are on our own," Savok was saying, "We cannot expect help from Vulcan. When they realize we are missing and arrive at the scene, they will find the debris of our warp core and assume _Ki'Vaar_ was destroyed. They will find the warp trail of two Orion slave ships and attribute the disaster to them; by that time the warp trail from the ore carrier will not be detectable due to its low speed. If the opportunity arises, we must get word back to Vulcan that the Andorians have broken the treaty and are preparing another attack on Vulcan."

That got Trip's attention. *This was _not_ an Andorian operation.*

*I know, Trip. I will tell them, but they will not listen to me.*

She stepped forward, "Captain, I believe the Romulans, not the Andorians, are behind this."

"Of course you believe that. You obviously concur with those ridiculous and unproven human theories regarding the Romulans and their desire for conquest."

"Based on my own personal experience, I would say there is ample proof. But consider for yourself. The Andorians that captured _Ki'Vaar_ are not Imperial Guard. They--"

"They are not wearing uniforms. That does not mean they aren't in the Guard," Savok interrupted.

T'Pol addressed the group at large, "I am sure many of you have had dealings with the Imperial Guard. Uniformed or not, they are a disciplined and professional organization. These Andorians are hired mercenaries. The only question is who hired them. I believe it was the Romulans."

"Your beliefs are irrelevant," Savok said. "We will speak no more of this."

Trip was indignant, *What an arrogant blow-hard!*

*It is as I said, my love--they will not listen to me. I am severing the visual and auditory link, now. You should brief Captain Archer on what you've heard.*

*I will.*

T'Pol seated herself at a table, well away from everyone else, and studied the room where they were held. There were two doors in the mess area, guarded by two Andorians each. Another group of four Andorians occupied the serving area, which led to the galley. She was unsure how many exits to the rest of the ship were available from inside the galley. None of the eight Andorians in the crew's mess were armed. _A precaution to keep us from taking their weapons, no doubt._

Lieutenant Sprel approached her table and sat beside her. She glanced at him, then returned to studying the guards. "Are you not concerned to be seen with me?"

"I have been assigned to watch you," Sprel replied. "Let them think I am doing my job. I am curious; what would the humans be doing in this situation?"

"They would be planning an escape attempt. By now they would have formulated at least a dozen different plans, and attempted the one I would--at one time--have deemed most illogical and least likely to succeed. I have learned to be less critical of their efforts, since my initial assessment of their plans was usually wrong, despite applying rigorous logic."

"What plan would they arrive at in this circumstance?"

T'Pol considered that for a moment. "I believe they would first determine the need for more detailed information of Andorian activities outside this room. They would probably devise a means to get one of their number out on a scouting mission."

Sprel seemed skeptical. "How would they get anyone out unnoticed?"

"They would not. They would get the Andorians to take them, using subterfuge and a technique called 'play-acting'. For example, they might have a person pretend to be ill. The Andorians would remove him to sickbay for treatment, and he would observe what he could on his way there and back."

"Then what would they do?" Sprel prompted.

"They would probably 'create a diversion'. Perhaps a pretend fight between two crewmen. They would overpower the guards in the room, and wait by the door to attack the guards who came in to help, take their weapons, and attempt to recapture the ship. Or some other plan, completely different. Their capacity for imaginative thinking is boundless."

"Intriguing. I am disappointed we will not be able to try it."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I see nothing preventing us."

Sprel looked over at the other Vulcans, "They have given up. Their logic tells them there is nothing they can do, so they would never agree to participate. Especially if they knew it was _your_ plan."

T'Pol followed his gaze, and was forced to agree with his judgment. The others sat or stood in small groups, completely passive. It wasn't that they had consciously admitted defeat; they were merely waiting for circumstances to change, since they believed the current situation was beyond their power to control.

####

*Trip...*

*Hey, darlin'.*

*Trip, I require your assistance in meditating.* T'Pol sent. She made no attempt to hide her uneasiness from her bond mate.

Trip's feeling of apprehension--already high--increased by several notches. *What's going on, T'Pol?*

*The Andorians are making things difficult for us. They have reduced the temperature on board. It is much colder now than Vulcans are accustomed to, colder even than humans like. The food they bring us contains meat; we must eat it or go hungry. I ate it to keep my strength up; I knew you would insist.*

*Damn right I would.*

*Very few of the others joined me. To them, it was just one more example of how I've abandoned Vulcan principles.*

*They'll come around when they get hungry enough.*

*No, Trip. Many will die before they willingly consume meat.*

Trip was silent.

T'Pol continued her litany, *The Andorians are not allowing us to meditate. They watch us, and anyone they see who appears to be meditating receives a beating.*

Trip sighed, *You know what they're doing, don't you?*

*Yes, Trip, I know. I was once an agent with the V'Shar. They are preparing us for interrogation.*

*T'Pol, that scares the hell out of me.*

*I find the prospect to be unsettling as well.*

*No, T'Pol, I'm not unsettled. I'm _scared_. Terrified.*

*So am I, my love, but I know you are coming for me. I will endure whatever I must until you get here.*

*T'Pol, I love you. I cannot imagine life without you. Please, please be careful.*

*I will. Now, if you are not too busy, I still require your help meditating.*

*Sure darlin', just relax...* Trip slid into her emotional center and set about absorbing the feelings that troubled her. It was different this time, and not just because T'Pol wasn't nestled in his arms. It was different because he lacked the emotional calm he was trying to impart to her.

He found and dealt with the expected emotions--fear and anger, at her captors and at the way her fellow Vulcans treated her; revulsion and shame at having eaten meat--but there were some additional emotions he was completely unprepared for: There were burgeoning feelings of pride and affection for the Vulcan Sprel. And there was grief. Grief? _She grieves the loss of her bear!_ Trip thought, in amazement. At one time, he might have taken delight in teasing her over such an un-Vulcan lapse. Today, it tore at his heart.

He restored her to her center, and she sent a wave of gratitude toward him. *Thank you, Trip. I think I can sleep now, although it is cold.*

*Goodnight, darlin'.* Trip stayed in her mind, wrapping himself around her essence, sending her thoughts of warmth and affection. When he was sure she was asleep, he went straight to the engine room and frantically worked at squeezing yet more speed from his already laboring engines.

**Continued in Chapter 4**


	4. Chapter 4

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** R, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. G otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

**Note:** The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

****

FOUR

Unknown minshara-class planet, 17 May 2155

After three days, the ore carrier and _Ki'Vaar_ arrived at their destination. The twenty Vulcan prisoners were loaded onto a large shuttle and taken to a location on the northeast corner of the nameless planet's largest continent. During the descent, T'Pol's astrophysics-trained eye watched for clues that could later help pinpoint the planet's (and star's) location.

She craned her neck to get a better look through the shuttle's small viewports. *This system's primary appears to be spectral class K... I estimate it to be on the bright side for a K, maybe magnitude six. It has at least one class M companion that I can see, but there could be others. I estimate the companion to be four to five light hours from the primary...* T'Pol fed Trip with a running commentary, which Trip repeated into the audio input of a PADD.

The shuttle set down in the middle of a fenced-in compound. Andorian guards rousted the Vulcans from the shuttle, pushing and striking them liberally. They were taken to a long, low building with barred windows. Inside, the building was divided into two rooms. The main room had rows of bunks along either wall, about forty in all. There were no other features or furniture. The far wall opened to a small shower and water closet. There was no door on the opening.

T'Pol picked a bunk at random and sat down. Lieutenant Sprel went to a window, looked out, tested the bars, then came to sit on the next bunk over from her's. He looked tired.

"They will come soon to begin questioning us," Sprel said. "It is obvious they are after information."

"I agree."

"I don't know how many of us they will take, but you may be one of the first. They will wonder what a Starfleet officer is doing on a Vulcan ship. I am concerned for you."

"I share your concern," T'Pol replied, dryly. She looked around the room. "There are no guards here at the moment. Perhaps you should take advantage of the opportunity to meditate. You appear fatigued."

"Perhaps I should. I have begun to notice lapses in my emotional control. On the other hand, you seem to be fine. How is that?"

It was a presumptuous question for one Vulcan to ask another, but T'Pol took no offense. She had developed a fondness for Sprel, despite his forwardness. _Or maybe because of it?_ "My bondmate assists me. As a result, my meditation is more effective, and I require less of it."

"There seem to be many advantages to having a human mate," Sprel mused, "It would seem logical to consider one for myself."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow at that. "I would advise caution. Emotional attachments with humans can be dangerous for Vulcans. I was... fortunate."

"How so?"

"We were friends, my bondmate and I, friends and co-workers. At some point he started to love me. Human love. It was like nothing I had ever felt before, and I had no experience in dealing with it. It was... overwhelming, yet exhilarating. His feelings were so strong, so intense... That intensity very nearly destroyed me." T'Pol looked at Sprel, who was staring at her, wide-eyed and obviously discomfited by her words. "You did ask me, did you not? Should I continue?"

"You may... continue," Sprel said, fascinated in spite of himself.

T'Pol nodded, a human gesture she had acquired over the years. "I could not help myself. Against my better judgment, I came to return his affection. I tried to love him, as he loved me, but I couldn't. I didn't know how, and so I almost lost him. He was patient with me during those times. Many--maybe most--humans would have given up on me. I slowly learned how to love a human the way he deserves, and he learned how to love a Vulcan. Now, I cannot imagine my life without him."

Sprel continued to stare, uncomprehending.

"I regret if it sounded like I was speaking nonsense," T'Pol said. "You have no context to understand my words. Suffice it to say, you must be extremely careful when entering into any kind of intimate relation with a human."

"I... I will heed your warning."

"One more thing," T'Pol continued.

"Yes?"

"If anything happens to me, you must not give up hope. Starfleet will not stop looking until they've found us. We will eventually be rescued. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Good. Now, I'm going to get some rest. I suggest you do likewise."

####

That night, T'Pol dreamed:

Trip held her in his arms, one hand curled around her waist, the other gently stroking her hair. Her head was pressed against his chest, and the steady rhythm of his heart filled her with a quiet calm. Outside the circle of his arms, she was vaguely aware of a dark, menacing storm, waiting to engulf her, and a tiny spark of dread began to grow. _Rest, my darling,_ Trip whispered, _You're safe here; just rest..._ The dread dissipated, and once again she was at peace.

A cacophony of loud noises jerked her awake. A dozen armed Andorians swarmed into the barracks, shouting and herding the Vulcans into one corner. T'Pol was jerked to her feet and shoved roughly toward the other prisoners. They stood under the ominous glares and unwavering guns of the Andorian guards, waiting to see who would be taken first.

They didn't have long to wait. Another Andorian, unarmed, walked into the barracks and along the rows of bunks. He came to a halt in front of the Vulcans, and looked them over, smiling faintly. "The interrogation rooms are ready for our first five guests. We will start with the Captain, his First Officer, and the Chief Engineer, of course." As he said their titles, he pointed them out, and a pair of guards grabbed each and hauled them out the door.

"Next, we will take the Operations Officer." He pointed, and another prisoner was dragged from the room.

"And finally, there are some questions we would like to ask _you,_ Starfleet," and he pointed directly at T'Pol. Two guards grabbed her by the arms and walked her to the door.

*Trip...*

*T'Pol?*

*They're taking me for questioning.*

*Don't worry, Darlin', I'm here. You won't have to face this alone. I'm heading for sickbay right now.*

*Trip? Why are you going to sickbay..?*

*If things start getting rough, Phlox can help me. Pain killers, stimulants, that sort of thing.*

_He plans to try to protect me._ *Trip, you must not endanger yourself for me.*

*T'Pol, that is quite possibly the _stupidest_ thing you have ever said. I will do what you would do if the situation were reversed. You can not stop me.*

_He is right, I would do the same for him._ *I am sorry, my love. I welcome your assistance. Just... be careful.*

Trip arrived at sickbay, and his attention wavered from T'Pol as he briefed Phlox on the situation, and took his place on one of the beds. T'Pol turned her attention to the guards escorting her across the compound grounds.

"How much are they paying you?" she asked.

"Enough."

T'Pol followed up with another question, "Have you seen them? The Romulans who hired you? They are very protective of their identities, you know. If you've seen them, you will not leave this planet alive. In fact, they may kill you all even if you _haven't_ seen them."

The two Andorians exchanged glances, but said nothing.

"Tell your friends Starfleet will double what the Romulans said they would pay, if you hand the Romulans over to us," T'Pol continued, "and _we_ will let you live."

"Silence, Vulcan," one of them said, with much less force than T'Pol would have expected. _Perhaps the seed of doubt has been planted,_ she thought.

They arrived at their destination, a windowless building with a single, long hallway. There were several doors along either side of the hallway--some of them open--and she could see other prisoners and their guards through the doors. She was brought to a small, brightly lit room furnished with a single chair. The chair was facing the wall opposite the door, which featured a large mirror. _Not a mirror,_ T'Pol thought, _one way glass._

Also in the room was an Orion male, large and green, standing beside the chair in a relaxed pose.

"Welcome, Commander," he said, with a genial smile. "Before we get started, perhaps you would like to get more comfortable?" Then he addressed the Andorian guards, "Please, help her out of her uniform top."

The two guards traded grins at their good fortune, and began pawing at T'Pol's torso, trying to figure out how the alien fasteners on her uniform worked.

"Stop," the Orion commanded. The Andorians quit their pawing and looked up. "Commander, you might want to help them take that off. The alternative is to cut it off, and it is undoubtedly the only Starfleet uniform on this planet."

T'Pol considered that, and decided to comply.

*Trip...*

Trip's reply was immediate. *I'm here.*

*I am going to attack the Orion. I'm hoping the Andorian guards will stun me, which should delay my questioning for several hours.*

*Okay. Kick some Orion butt for me.*

Under the watchful eyes of her Andorian guards, T'Pol unzipped the front of her duty uniform. When she was sure she had their undivided attention, she launched into action. She pushed off from the closest guard, which threw him against the wall and launched her toward the Orion. Landing nimbly on two feet, she directed a quick side kick at the surprised Orion's closest knee. His leg buckled and he started to fall, but the trajectory of his head was redirected by the impact of her other foot, as she connected with a vicious roundhouse kick. He crumpled to the ground in a tangled green heap.

T'Pol ran to the door, past the startled Andorians, who were clawing at their holstered pistols. She attempted to fling the door open, but it was locked. There was no apparent locking mechanism she could see. Turning warily, she found herself facing the drawn pistols of the two Andorian guards, who had backed away from her to the other side of the small room.

"Do not stun the prisoner," commanded a voice, from a tinny speaker somewhere in the room. _It appears our Romulan from behind the mirror has revealed his presence,_ T'Pol thought, with satisfaction. She leapt at the two guards, with what she hoped was an intimidating snarl, and aimed a kick at the head of one guard. She deliberately missed, but the hoped-for stun beam did not come.

"Grab her, you dolts," said the tinny voice. The Andorians--exhibiting more discipline than she had expected--re-holstered their weapons and cautiously advanced on her from opposite flanks.

_They are not going to stun me,_ she concluded, _but maybe I can get them to knock me unconscious._ With this in mind, she attacked the guard coming in from her right, landing a series of blows calculated to enrage rather than incapacitate.

He swung at her and missed, swung again and caught her on the cheek. She danced away, and landed a few stinging blows on the other guard. He swung wildly and missed.

_They are going to need some help._ she realized. She stood flatfooted, letting her guard drop a bit, and...

One of the guard's fists exploded against the side of her head. T'Pol dropped to her knees, dazed, and the guards took the opportunity to fall on her, pinning her arms between them.

*T'Pol!*

*My plan didn't work...*

*I know. It was a good try, though,* Trip sent. His surface calm did not fool T'Pol. _He is more frightened than I have ever seen him,_ she thought, _but he his trying to be strong for me. No, not trying; he IS strong._

Now that they knew how the zippers worked, the guards quickly had her stripped to the waist and secured in the chair. They cuffed her arms tightly behind her back, then turned their attention to the Orion, who had begun to stir on the floor. They helped him into a sitting position, where he groaned, holding his head in both hands.

The tinny voice gave him no rest. "Mavas, go have your injury attended to. Tell Naraar I want him here. You two, help him."

The Andorians, with considerable effort, helped the hulking Orion to his feet. He glared at T'Pol as he left the room, but didn't say anything. The door clicked as they reached it, and they pushed it open and left. _The door is controlled from behind the mirror,_ T'Pol observed. _That explains why I could not open it._

"You have caused a great deal of trouble, Commander," the tinny voice said.

"That was my intention." T'Pol said. She shifted in the chair, verifying that it was bolted to the floor.

"You certainly succeeded," the voice said with a chuckle. "Now, while we wait for my assistant, maybe you can satisfy my curiosity: What is a Starfleet officer doing on a Vulcan ship? And what is a Vulcan doing in a Starfleet uniform?"

"Perhaps you should introduce yourself before we continue this discussion?" T'Pol suggested.

"But of course, how rude of me. My name is Kassus, and I am the director of this facility. You should be honored; I could have supervised any of the interrogation sessions I desired. I chose to handle yours. So far, you have not disappointed me."

"Kassus. A good Romulan name." T'Pol pointed out.

"It is fitting, because I am a good Romulan," replied Kassus, in an amused tone.

*I knew it,* Trip sent, *Romulans.*

*There was never any doubt, my love.*

T'Pol continued the conversation. "In answer to your first question, I am serving as a liaison between Earth and Vulcan, to foster closer cooperation between our fleets. In answer to your second question, I wear the Starfleet uniform because I choose to."

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another Orion. "Ah, Naraar, so good of you to join us. I would like to introduce you to Commander T'Pol, of Starfleet. Commander, this is Naraar, one of my assistants."

Naraar gave her a scornful look. "This scrawny creature sent Mavas to the dispensary?"

"Do not underestimate her, Naraar. She has been well trained in the combative arts. Now that you're here, we can get started. Did you bring the PADD?"

"I have it right here," Naraar said, holding up a Vulcan-issue PADD in his massive hand.

*What is that?* Trip asked.

*I'm not sure...* T'Pol replied, although she suspected she knew.

"Show it to the Commander, Naraar." Naraar held it up where she could view the display, and her worst suspicions were confirmed.

*Trip, it's the PADD I recorded my observations on. It has all the data I was going to use to write my reports. Tactical capabilities, operating procedures, equipment specs. It's all there.*

*The files are encrypted, aren't they?*

*Yes, but all he needs is my personal key and he will have _everything_.

*Then I guess we know what their first question is going to be.* Trip sent. T'Pol had never heard him sound so grim.

"Do you recognize that PADD?" Kassus asked.

"No," T'Pol lied.

"Let me refresh your memory, then. This PADD was found on the bridge of the _Ki'Vaar_, with your name in the login screen. I have to ask myself: what sort of information would a liaison officer store in such a PADD? I have to think it would be information of great interest to me. All I need to access that marvelous data is your personal key. Now, please, don't insult my intelligence by telling me you've forgotten it; we both know that isn't true."

T'Pol stared straight ahead.

Kassus sighed. "Commander, I like you. You have earned my respect. Therefore, I feel the need to be honest with you. You are going to tell me _everything_ I wish to know. The only question is when. You can tell me now, and save yourself a great deal of suffering, or you can tell me later. Logic would dictate that you tell me now."

"Logic may dictate that, but honor demands otherwise. I will not so lightly betray my trust," T'Pol said.

"No," Kassus said softly, "I didn't think you would." He was silent for a moment, before he continued, in a more brusque tone, "Well, Naraar, she's all yours."

Naraar smiled and leaned in close, "Are you afraid, Vulcan?"

"No."

"Of course not," Naraar agreed. "That's because Vulcans feel no fear. Vulcans feel no emotion at all. No pain. Vulcans do not feel."

*S'okay, darlin',* Trip commented, *I'm scared enough for both of us.*

*Humor, Trip?*

*Yeah, a little. Except in this case, it also happens to be true.*

Naraar walked to a floor length cabinet in the wall. Opened, the cabinet revealed a small tray on rollers, which he wheeled over next to the chair where T'Pol was restrained. There were two items on the tray. He picked up the first and held it for T'Pol's inspection. It was a hypospray containing a small quantity of amber fluid. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"It is a hypospray."

"Well, yes. But what do you suppose it contains?"

"I do not know," T'Pol said, evenly, "I suggest you inject it into yourself and see."

Naraar laughed, his laughter a harsh rumble.

*Humor, T'Pol?*

*Yes. I was trying to lighten the mood.*

*Well you certainly lightened _his_ mood.*

Naraar's gravelly laugh died away. "It is a gift for you, Vulcan. I am going to give you the gift of feeling. The gift of fear. The gift of pain." Naraar bounced the hypospray in his hand. "The contents of this hypospray will inhibit the ability of your brain to suppress feelings. Any feelings."

He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her head back, exposing the curve of her throat. The hypospray hissed, and he released her hair. "It takes about five minutes to start working, and the effects will last for eight hours. That's too much, really; I shouldn't need more than two hours to get what I need. While we wait, let me show you something else."

He took the other object from the tray, and held it up so T'Pol could get a good look at it. The object had a straight handle, and an elongated metal tip. "This," he intoned, "is a soldering iron. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what they're normally used for. I have found another use." The last he said with evident pride.

He pointed to the business end of his soldering iron. "The tip reaches a temperature of three hundred degrees. That's hot enough to melt lead."

"That is incorrect," T'Pol replied, calmly. "The melting point of lead is three-hundred twenty-seven degrees."

Naraar laughed again, louder than before. "You are truly a delight, my little Vulcan! I am sure you are right, but it doesn't matter. The tip is certainly hot enough to sear your flesh. That is all I require of it."

He tilted her head back so he could look into each of her eyes. "I can see the drug starting to work. Your vision should be getting a little blurry, and you should be feeling some apprehension."

Indeed, she was starting to feel a tingle of fear.

He waited a while longer before checking her eyes again. He gave a grunt of satisfaction at what he saw. "We are ready to begin. Are you afraid now, my little Vulcan?"

"Yes," she whispered. Her throat and mouth had gone dry, and a sheen of perspiration formed on her forehead.

"You don't have to be. Just give me the pass key to your PADD, and this ends now."

"I- I will not."

"So be it." Naraar pressed the tip of the soldering iron against T'Pol's shoulder. She gasped sharply, and tried to jerk away, but the chair held her tight. The acrid smell of burning flesh assaulted her nose.

Naraar pulled the tip away and examined his handiwork. "Notice that the iron is no longer touching you, yet you still feel the pain. Burns are like that--the pain continues long after the heat is removed. The more I use this, the more pain you will feel. Save yourself. Give me the pass key to your PADD."

"No."

Suddenly, her fear and pain receded, and she felt a familiar warmth in her mind. *T'Pol, listen carefully,* Trip said, with urgency. *It looks like the drug has not affected our bond, which means I can help you. But we have to be careful. If I help too much, they'll get suspicious. You have to act like it hurts, even if it doesn't. Also, whatever I take from you, I feel like it's happening to me. I'm in sickbay and Phlox has given me pain killers, so that will help, but he can't give me too much without making me groggy, and I need a clear head to help you.*

Just as suddenly, the pain returned. Trip continued, *Sorry darlin', but we've got to pace ourselves. I'll be waiting in the wings until you can't take it any more, then I'll step in and give you a break. You are not alone.*

*Never alone, my love.* The pain had returned, but the fear was gone.

Naraar used the soldering iron to draw a line of scorched flesh, starting from her throat. T'Pol's body went rigid, and her head jerked violently as a harsh cry escaped her lips. When the line had reached her abdomen, he moved the tip over a couple of centimeters and started a parallel line. Her cries increased in intensity, and Trip reached across their bond to moderate her pain. He was dismayed that his services were needed after only the first minute.

####

T'Pol's world had shrunk. It encompassed only the chair, the soldering iron, Naraar's looming face, and the overwhelming pain. As time passed, her cries subsided to rasping moans, and she could no longer distinguish the soldering iron's latest onslaught from its previous work crisscrossing her skin.

"Give me the pass key," Naraar demanded with mounting frustration. She no longer bothered to answer his question, and the soldering iron's tip moved on, seeking out fresh areas of unmarred flesh.

*T'Pol, We just got word from _Columbia_. The Vulcan crewmen have been rescued from the Orion slavers. All twenty-five of them are safe. Thought you might want to know. *

*That... is good... but need assistance...* Instantly, the agony lessened, and a wave of relief washed over her. *Thank you, Trip.*

There was no answer. *Trip..?*

His reply was strained when it came.*Sorry, darlin'. Either the pain killers are wearing off, or there's a lot more pain now. Or both. I've got Phlox working on it.*

*I'm rested now, Trip. Give it back.*

*Rest... a little more...* Through the bond, T'Pol was dimly aware of Trip thrashing about, determined to hold on to her pain for as long as he could. She did not have the strength to argue with him.

####

"That is enough," said Kassus, his voice coming through the speaker, "Any more and you risk killing her. Return her to the barracks; we will try a different approach tomorrow."

Naraar set his instrument down, and started to unlock the cuffs holding T'Pol in the chair, but Kassus' voice stopped him. "Do not try to take her yourself. Remember what she did to Mavas."

"Yes, I remember," Naraar said to Kassus. "I will not make the mistake of underestimating this one." Then to T'Pol: "I will return soon, my little Vulcan. You have impressed me greatly today." With that, he left the room.

With great effort, T'Pol lifted her head and stared at her reflection in the one-way glass. Her dank hair clung to her head, networks of ugly burns marred her face, arms, back, and chest, and her eyes were hollow pits. Waves of pain rolled over her, then receded, then returned, as Trip fought to balance the agony so neither of them would be overwhelmed.

*T'Pol, we did it...* Trip sent.

*T'Pol?*

*I don't think... I can go through this again,* she replied.

*Don't worry about tomorrow. Let's take it one day at a time.*

Naraar returned with two Andorian guards. Their eyes widened at the sight of the burns on T'Pol's body, but they said nothing. Naraar unlocked the cuffs holding her into the chair. She fell forward, and he caught her by the shoulders. She cried out as his hands disturbed the burns.

"This is going to hurt," he said. With surprising gentleness, he helped her back into the top half of her uniform. She hissed through clenched teeth as the cloth made contact with her skin, then fought off waves of dizziness when she was pulled to her feet.

"Can you walk?" Naraar asked.

She tried taking a step, and had to cling to Naraar's arm as her leg gave way beneath her weight. Sucking in a breath of air, she tried again, successfully. "I can walk," she said.

"Remarkable." Naraar observed.

They left the room and slowly made their way back to the barracks. When they arrived, Naraar remained outside. "Good night, my little Vulcan. I will see you again tomorrow, and we will continue our discussion."

The Andorians unlocked the door and let her in, shutting and locking it behind her. The other prisoners looked up and stared as she entered. Sprel hurried over as she stood teetering by the door, and helped her to a bunk. "Doctor, you are needed over here," he called to Sub-Commander S'Vor, the ship's physician.

Doctor S'Vor came over, and helped seat her on the bunk. He examined the burns on her cheeks and neck, burns that trailed below her collar. He insisted that she remove her uniform top so he could better assess her injuries. With Sprel's assistance and much gritting of teeth, she got the top off again.

A quiet murmur ran through the room as T'Pol's burns were revealed. "Barbarians!" Doctor S'Vor exclaimed.

"Sprel, why is everyone staring? I was not the only one taken for questioning."

"The others were brought back two hours ago. You were gone for five. No one else was burned as significantly as you. Did they not use the drug on you?"

Doctor S'Vor answered that question. "She has clearly been drugged; look at her pupils."

"They used it," T'Pol acknowledged, "I am still feeling the effects, and... I am in a great deal of pain."

"Yes, but the others had lighter injuries than you and were affected more. They couldn't walk. They could barely talk. Right now they are lying down, and either sleeping or... or... crying."

"Of course they're crying," T'Pol snapped, "They've been stripped of the ability to suppress emotion and placed in an extremely stressful situation. They don't know how to deal with it. There is no disgrace in that."

"_You_ seem to know how to deal with it," Sprel said, pointedly. "That is why everyone is staring. They are amazed that you can still function after such an ordeal."

"I have lived among humans for many years," T'Pol said. "I believe that helped."

*Hey, what about me?* Trip protested, *don't I get any credit?*

*You get all the credit, my love. I just can't speak of you in front of the others.*

Doctor S'Vor completed his examination. "These are mostly first and second degree burns, with a few areas of third degree. Get her into the shower under cold water, and I will prepare some bandages from bed sheets. It's the best I can do here."

Sprel helped her to the shower. On the way, she told him that the _Ki'Vaar's_ junior crewmen had been rescued from the Orion slavers, and reminded him not to repeat the information. He appeared gratified by the news.

T'Pol felt somewhat better after the cold shower and makeshift bandages were applied. She decided not to attempt the ordeal of getting back into her uniform; her blue Starfleet undergarments and S'Vor's homemade white bandages were covering enough. Nearly quivering from exhaustion and pain, she collapsed on a vacant bunk, intent on getting some sleep.

*T'Pol!* Her eyes snapped open; she could sense Trip's excitement and urgency.

*Trip? What is it?*

*We've located the system where you're being held. It's listed in an Andorian stellar database as system 657743. Everything matches your observations, down to a tee. Best of all, we'll be there in two days. Hold on, T'Pol, the cavalry's coming!*

*Two days? Trip, Naraar is coming for me in the morning. I-- I cannot go through another day like today.*

*You don't have to, darlin'. When they ask you a question, you're going to sing like a canary.*

*Sing, Trip?*

*Sorry, it's a figure of speech. It means you'll tell them everything they want to know.*

*It would be disastrous for the Romulans to get that information.*

*First of all, they already have most of it. I'm sure good ol' Captain Savok spilled his guts right away. So did your Chief Engineer, and--who else did they take?*

*First Officer Serol and the Ops Officer.*

*Yeah. I'll bet they both sang,* Trip said with disdain.

*Yes, they 'sang'. As _I_ would have, without your help.*

*Okay,* Trip sent, *maybe I was a little harsh; I apologize. But there is another reason it doesn't matter if you talk: These Romulans are a long way from home, and they are taking great pains to be inconspicuous. They're observing a strict communications blackout, which means NONE of the intelligence they've collected has left the planet. And when _Enterprise_ gets there, we'll make damn sure none of it ever does.*

*So, I did not have to endure what I did today? It was all for nothing?* Anger and bitterness fairly crackled across the bond.

*What WE endured, T'Pol. And no, it wasn't for 'nothing'. We did what we thought was best based on the information we had at the time.*

T'Pol was silent for several long moments. Too silent. *T'Pol? Are you _crying?_*

Indeed, she was. Soft, gasping sobs shook her body, and tears stung the burns on her cheeks. Sprel looked on helplessly, uncertain what he should do and greatly unnerved by the sight. He had not realized until that moment just how much he had been relying on T'Pol's strength and determination.

Trip kicked himself. T'Pol was still suffering the effects of the Romulan drugs, and was unable to control her feelings by herself. In his elation over her eminent rescue, he had let his concentration on her emotional control slip, with predictable results.

*I'm sorry, darling, I wasn't paying attention...* He set to work capturing the emotions that troubled her, and was heartsick at what he found.

T'Pol's glimpses of herself in the one-way glass of the interrogation room had affected her deeply. She was afraid that the burns she suffered would disfigure her permanently, and that Trip would be repulsed by her disfigurement. Worse, he was unable to rid her of that particular fear; it was like trying to bail water with a sieve. No sooner had he removed it than he found it was still there. It dawned on him that he was wasting his time--he could not eradicate the feelings as long as the underlying beliefs that fed them were there. He had to get to the root cause.

*T'Pol, I know you're worried about how you look, but you don't need to be. My feelings for you do not depend on your appearance.*

*The bond does not lie, Trip. I have felt how much you enjoy looking at me. I have felt your pride in my appearance. You thought me beautiful; you told me yourself. How can you now say these scars do not matter?*

*Because they don't, okay? They just _don't._*

*You cannot say that. You have not seen what I look like now. Even the Andorian guards were shocked by my appearance.*

*T'Pol, when we were married, I promised to love you in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. I'm not leaving you because of some scars.*

*I know that. You are an honorable man, and you will do what you promised. That is why I will not hold you to those vows. I do not wish a husband who stays with me out of obligation or duty.*

*Dammit, T'Pol, now you're making me mad. Just how shallow do you think I am?*

*You are not shallow, Trip. You are just human. This may not be an issue; perhaps the scars can be repaired. We shall see. Now, I am extremely tired and must rest. We will finish this discussion later.*

Trip was also exhausted from their recent ordeal, but had to contend with the additional fatigue of having to constantly monitor her mental processes, moderate her uncontrolled emotions, and assume her pain. For her to question his commitment was... was... infuriating. _Tired be damned,_ he thought, _we're having this out, right now._

But T'Pol had already fallen into a deep slumber. Trip sighed, and rubbed his aching eyes. He did not have the heart to wake her, not after what she'd just endured. He made a quick mental check to insure nothing troubled her sleep, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. A spell of dizziness made him abandon his plan to stand.

Doctor Phlox bustled over in his best mother hen imitation. "Ah, Commander, how are we feeling?" He ran a medical scanner up and down Trip's body, not content to wait for his answer.

"By 'we', do you mean me, or T'Pol?"

"I mean both, actually."

"In that case, we both feel like hell."

"That's only to be expected, given what you've been through. I see you're still experiencing some of her pain. By now it should be lessening somewhat."

"Yeah, a little. I'm taking most of it right now, so she can sleep. I figure her drugs will wear off in another couple of hours, and then I'll be able to rest."

"Resting would certainly be the best thing you could do. In the meantime, you should remain here in sickbay."

Trip opened his mouth to protest, then closed it when he realized he had neither the strength nor the will to leave. He lay back down on the bed with a groan. "Doc, do you think the burns on T'Pol will cause permanent scars?"

"I would have to examine her before I can say, but I believe the chances are quite good that they will not. Of course, the longer her treatment is delayed, the greater the risk of scarring." He regarded Trip thoughtfully, "Why do you ask, Commander?"

"Uh, I-- no reason, really."

Phlox was not convinced. "Are you troubled by the prospect?"

"Who, me? No, not me. T'Pol is... concerned."

"So. T'Pol is concerned about her appearance, but you are not."

"It does sound a little silly when you say it like that."

"Then try saying it differently."

_Sure, why not?_ "T'Pol seems to think I will no longer be attracted to her if she is permanently scarred. I tried to convince her of the truth, but she wouldn't listen."

"I see," Phlox said, thoughtfully. "This bond you share... can you not use it to show her how you feel?"

"Well, that's just it, Doc. She knows through the bond that I think she's drop-dead gorgeous. Now she's convinced herself that I'll no longer feel that way, just because of a few scars. It's crazy!"

"Perhaps not. It is possible that both of you are correct." Trip started to protest, but Phlox cut him off. "Bear with me, Commander. Would it be fair to say that T'Pol was initially mystified by your attraction to her physical attributes?"

Trip had to smile. "You could say that. Unlike human females, she's not aware of her beauty. She just doesn't think about it."

"So T'Pol, being the good scientist that she is, would probably study this phenomenon. She would probably review everything in the ship's library on human male sexuality. And what she found would tell her that human males--such as you, Commander--are visually stimulated."

"It probably would," Trip agreed, "but tell me, Doctor, how do you, a _Denobulan_, happen to come by that knowledge?"

Phlox chuckled, "I fancy myself something of a scientist as well, and I have taken the opportunity to study many different aspects of your fascinating species. Suffice it to say, I have certainly viewed the same data sources that T'Pol has. What she found would logically support her conviction that you will think less of her if she is disfigured."

"But it isn't true!" Trip protested.

"Commander, this bond you share brings great benefits to your relationship, but it can also work to your detriment. If you do not restrain your reaction when you see her--if you are at all shocked or upset by her appearance--she will sense it. It could fortify her belief that she is less desirable in your eyes."

"I'll try, Doc, but that's asking a lot. If it's as bad as she makes it sound, I'm going to have a hard time keeping my cool. What then?"

"I don't know," Phlox admitted. "Whatever happens, this is not going to be easy. She has been through a horrific ordeal, and it _will_ have an affect on her. No one, regardless of species, can undergo that kind of treatment without consequences. I cannot tell you what they will be or when they will occur, but there will be something. You must be prepared for that."

"I'll do what I can."

"I know you will," Phlox said, radiating encouragement, "and remember, I'm always here if you two need my help. Such that it is."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll keep that in mind."

**Continued in Chapter 5**


	5. Chapter 5

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** R, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. G otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

**Note:** The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

****

**FIVE  
**System 657743 (Andorian Star Catalog), 18 May 2155

T'Pol woke the next morning feeling like a Vulcan again. The drugs were out of her system and her emotional control was back in place. She could also suppress her own pain again, without Trip's assistance. In fact, Trip was conspicuously absent from her mind. _He is sleeping,_ she observed, after a quick check. _That is good. He needs the rest._

She sat up and looked around. The others were up and about, standing or sitting in small groups. Sprel stood in a group with the Captain and a few other senior officers, speaking in hushed tones. When he saw her sitting up, he excused himself and came over.

"Commander, how are you?"

"I am fine," She replied. Sprel, on the other hand, appeared haggard. "You look tired. Did you not sleep?"

"Not much," he admitted, "There was an attempted uprising last night. The Andorian guards tried to seize the compound. It appears the Romulans were able to remotely disable their weapons. The guards were killed easily when their weapons stopped functioning."

"That is fortuitous," T'Pol noted. "Our rescue will be much easier with fewer guards to contend with." _I will notify Trip of this as soon as he awakens._

"The Captain is thinking that now would be a good time to attempt an escape," Sprel said. "He has us working on plans."

"An excellent idea. It will keep everyone occupied," T'Pol said. Then she lowered her voice so only Sprel could hear, "It would be best if these plans are not executed too quickly."

Sprel considered that. "Three days is the earliest we'll be ready to act."

"That is not too soon."

Sprel gave her a sharp look. "Are you saying that Starfleet will be here in less than three days?"

"Yes. They have identified this planet and are on the way. They will be here tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Sprel exhibited a distinctly non-Vulcan excitement, but he quickly recovered his equilibrium. "That is gratifying news."

"I concur. Remember, you must not tell the others."

"I will not."

Captain Savok chose that moment to approach them. He was wearing his uniform and no burns were visible on his hands or face, but if anything, his appearance was more haggard than Sprel's. "Commander T'Pol," he said.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I was in error. As you stated, the Romulans are behind this plot. Given what I know, I must logically conclude that Starfleet is correct in its assessment of Romulan intentions."

"I am pleased to hear that. Your words will carry a great deal of weight with Fleet Headquarters in convincing them that closer ties with Starfleet are desirable."

"Yes. Unfortunately, I see no way for my words to reach Fleet Headquarters."

"We will be rescued. It is only a matter of time."

"There is no logical basis for that statement, Commander."

"On the contrary, Captain. My assessment is quite logical, based on what I know of Starfleet and _Enterprise_. They will not rest until we are found."

"Why would Starfleet be so determined to rescue a _Vulcan_ crew?" Captain Savok asked, skeptically.

"They aren't. They are determined to rescue _me_. You just happen to be here."

Savok did not know how to respond to that, so he changed the subject. "Doctor S'Vor would like to examine you and change your dressings when we are done here. You were greatly abused by our captors, more so than the rest of us. Why was that?"

"I would not answer their questions."

"You told them nothing?" Savok could not contain his disbelief.

"That is correct."

"It seems... it seems I have misjudged you, Commander. I did not expect such resolve from someone with your... background."

"You mean someone with my medical records?"

"Yes. That is what I meant. Viewing your records was a breach of protocol, but you should understand that everything I did, I did for the good of Vulcan. In this case, it appears I was wrong."

T'Pol did not get a chance to reply to Savok's astonishing admission. At that moment, the barracks door flew open and a group of armed Orions entered the room. They remained clustered by the door, clearly wary of the prisoners who stood staring at them. The Vulcans would not be given the opportunity to use their numerical advantage to overwhelm their captors.

Naraar was among the Orion contingent, and he stepped to the front, smiling. "Come, my little Vulcan. It is time to continue our conversation."

Another Orion stepped forward and pointed to Captain Savok. "You. We have further questions for you."

T'Pol grabbed Captain Savok by the arm. "Captain, it is important that you do not resist them," she said, urgently. "Do not let them use the drug; you must all remain clear-headed. Just answer their questions. Tell the others; they will not listen to me."

"What--"

T'Pol interrupted his question, "I cannot explain now. It will become clear soon." She walked toward the waiting Naraar without looking back.

Naraar secured her arms behind her back. "I will not have you send me to the dispensary as you did to Mavas," he explained. He pulled her over to stand by the door.

One by one, the prisoners were pulled out for questioning. Of the five, Captain Savok and T'Pol were the only two going back for a second round of questioning. In soft tones, Savok directed his other officers not to resist.

*Trip.*

*T'Pol?..* Through the bond she could sense his grogginess as he emerged from a deep sleep.

*They have come for me again*

That got his complete attention. *Okay, darling. I'm going back to sickbay, just in case. Remember: sing like a canary.*

*I remember.* Then she informed Trip of the overnight incident with the Andorian guards.

*The MACOs will be delighted to hear that,* Trip sent back, *they were a tad bit concerned about the quantity of guards.*

T'Pol was taken to the same room as before, and Naraar secured her to the chair. "Welcome back, Commander." Kassus' voice came through the speaker. "Did you rest well?"

"My rest was adequate. I understand you had a problem with your Andorian guards last night."

"Yes, there was some unpleasantness, but nothing we weren't prepared for. Somehow, the guards got the idea that they would not leave this facility alive. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Actually, I remember mentioning it to the guards that brought me here yesterday," T'Pol admitted. "The fact that you had equipped them with weapons you could remotely shut off tells me I was correct in my assessment."

Kassus laughed, long and loud. "Oh, Commander, you are remarkable! If I had a hundred like you working for me, there is nothing I couldn't accomplish."

"If you had a hundred like me, you would be dead a hundred times over," T'Pol stated, flatly.

"Well, then, perhaps it's just as well I don't." Kassus conceded, still chuckling. "So, Commander, I see you are out of uniform. Why might that be?"

"My uniform was too painful to wear."

"I am not surprised. We should strive to get through today's session without any additional discomfort. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. I believe we were asking you for the pass key to your PADD. What is it?"

T'Pol did not hesitate. "It is 515493762218."

Naraar keyed in the sequence. "It works," he announced.

"Now that was easy, wasn't it?" Kassus said. "Don't you wish you had told us that yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Especially since you have realized by now that we already know everything your PADD contains, from the other prisoners. It must be upsetting, going through all that pain for nothing."

"It is."

"Then let us not dwell on the past. We have more important matters to discuss. We obviously don't need you to tell us anything about Vulcan operations or technology, but you can tell us a great deal about Starfleet. Information we can't learn from anyone else. Why don't we talk about that?"

T'Pol hesitated.

*T'Pol! Sing, remember?*

*I remember, my love.* To Kassus: "Very well."

"You will not resist us?" Kassus asked. "I am surprised. I expected more of a fight from you."

"I am sorry to disappointed you, but I do not believe I could withstand another session such as yesterday's"

"Well, Naraar, it appears we will not need your services today," Kassus said. "You may leave. I will call you if there is a change."

After Naraar left, Kassus spoke to T'Pol. "Let's talk about Starfleet warp technology..."

Kassus questioned her relentlessly. Once it was obvious she was cooperating, he called Naraar back to release her from the chair. When T'Pol mentioned being hungry, he sent for food; bread and a vegetable stew containing no meat. T'Pol ate it all.

Nine hours later, Kassus called a halt to the proceedings, and she was returned to the barracks. She immediately sought out Sprel for an update.

"The Captain and the Security Officer are still being questioned," Sprel informed her, "The other two were returned about an hour ago. They cooperated with their questioners and were not harmed. We were brought food at midday that did not contain meat; it is the first sustenance some of us have had since the ship was taken."

"Lieutenant, it is the custom among humans to express gratitude to someone who has been of assistance. You have been extremely supportive of me since I came aboard _Ki'Vaar_. I thank you for that."

"I believe I was acting in a completely logical way," Sprel said, "Your gratitude is appreciated, but unnecessary."

"Nevertheless, I am grateful."

Sprel hesitated a moment, as if unsure of his next words. "I, too, am grateful. I have learned much from you, Commander T'Pol. You are unlike anyone else I have known. My childhood betrothal was terminated when I chose to serve off-world with the Directorate of Security, but if ever I am betrothed again, I would desire a mate like you."

"You are displaying an almost human attitude, Lieutenant; not very Vulcan of you." She said it in a chiding tone, but inwardly she was pleased by his comments.

"It is likely I learned that attitude from you."

Her only response was a slightly arched eyebrow.

####

*T'Pol, wake up!*

*...I'm awake.*

*Get everyone up and ready to move. MACOs are in place around the compound and waiting for the word to go.*

*Where is _Enterprise?_* T'Pol asked, as she struggled to rise.

*We're hanging just out of sensor range. The Romulans have a couple of small warships in orbit. They're docked to the _Ki'Vaar_. When the shooting starts, we'll move in and engage them. They won't know what hit them*

*How did the MACOs get on the ground without being detected?*

*Look, T'Pol, we've been planning this operation for days. There's no time to brief you on all the details, but since you asked, I modified a shuttlepod so the engine signature resembles a Coridan vessel. We stuffed it with seven MACOs and sent it in. They pretended to be dilithium prospectors scanning the planet for crystals. The Romulans told them to move on, which they did, but they made one orbit first. The MACOs did something they call an 'orbital insertion'. They jumped from the shuttle wearing thermal reentry suits, and made like meteors. It looks like loads of fun-- I'd like to try if I get a chance. It makes sky diving look like a tea party.*

*I am sure it does,* T'Pol agreed, dryly. *Give me a moment to get everyone prepared.*

T'Pol got up, glad for once that the the barracks lights were continuously left on. She pulled on her boots, but left her uniform folded on the bunk, not wanting to irritate her burns. She located Sprel, and shook him awake. "_Enterprise_ is here," she said, in answer to his inquiring look. "Start waking everyone; tell them to get ready to leave. Quietly. I'll speak with Captain Savok."

She moved to the Captain's bunk, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. His eyes opened, and focused on her face. "Commander?"

"Sir, _Enterprise_ is here to rescue us. There is an Earth MACO detachment outside the compound waiting to begin an assault. We must be prepared to move out of here quickly."

Savok sat up to see Sprel working his way through the room, waking the others as he went. "How... how do you know this?"

"Through my husband. We are bonded, the two of us. I have been in touch with him since I came aboard _Ki'Vaar_.

"In touch with him? You can speak, mind-to-mind?"

"Yes."

"With a _human?_ That is impossible."

"Yet it is true. It is how I knew we would be rescued; why I asked you not to resist yesterday. I could not tell you before now, lest the Romulans learn of it."

"It cannot be true. Those kind of bonds have not occurred between Vulcans since the Awakening, and never with a human. You are delusional. You will get us all killed."

She looked over her shoulder, and saw that everyone was awake. Sprel had moved them into the center of the room, and had them sitting quietly on the floor. All except the senior officers, who were making their determined way toward their Captain. "I can prove it," T'Pol said.

*Trip, we are ready. What happens next?*

*They blow the comm center, then come in with guns blazing.*

*Tell them to proceed.*

"You will hear an explosion when the communication center is destroyed," she said to Captain Savok. "That will signal the assault has begun."

The senior officers arrived, asking questions and demanding explanations. She silenced them with an upraised hand. _Anytime now..._ she thought.

Through the windows, a flash lit the night, followed by an earsplitting boom. Then came the sounds of phaser fire, intermixed with cries of alarm.

"It has begun," T'Pol said. "The MACOs will be here soon."

"I cannot believe you share such a bond with a-- a _human_. This is a trick, a trap--" Savok began, almost sputtering in his confusion.

Sprel, who had come up behind the senior officers, cut him off. "Believe it, Captain. Commander T'Pol and her husband--her _human_ husband--are k'hat'n'dlawa."

This set off another round of astonished exclamations among the Vulcans. T'Pol interrupted them with more instructions, "They are setting explosive charges to open the door. We must move back and get down." She herded them toward the back of the barracks, and had everyone lie flat on the ground. Another explosion rang out, and the door was blown from its hinges and into the room. Through dust and smoke, she saw two dark forms roll into the room and take up defensive positions on either side of the door, phase rifles at the ready. A third form followed, and as it cleared the smoke, T'Pol recognized the commander of the _Enterprise's_ MACO detachment.

She inclined her head in greeting. "Major Stanfield, it is good to see you."

"Commander T'Pol," he acknowledged. His eyes widened when he saw her burns, "You're injured, ma'am. Let my corpsman treat you."

"I am fine. May we review the plan?"

Major Stanfield pulled a phase pistol from his holster, and handed it to T'Pol. "You'll take the Vulcans to a landing zone in a clearing five hundred meters southwest of here. Kemper and Hamboyan will go with you. The shuttlepods will return you to _Enterprise_. It will take two trips to get everyone back on board."

"Transporters?" she asked.

Stanfield shook his head. "The Romulans have a dampening field in place. They've got an extensive network of field generators; it would take too long to locate and destroy them all. Shuttlepods are quicker in this case."

"What about the Romulans?"

"The rest of my team will remain here and attempt to take one or more of the Romulans alive. After you and the rest of the Vulcans are back on board, the shuttlepods will return for us."

"I will help you find the Romulans." T'Pol said.

*The hell you will!* Trip exclaimed in her head.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Stanfield said, "We could use an extra hand, but Captain Archer's orders are for you to leave with the Vulcans. He was quite emphatic on that point."

"I'll stay," Lieutenant Sprel spoke up. "I have training in ground combat."

Major Stanfield gave him a skeptical glance, then looked at T'Pol.

She nodded, remembering her own training with the V'Shar. "He would be an asset."

"Okay," Stanfield said, "if Commander T'Pol vouches for you, that's good enough for me." He called for Sergeant Kemper, and one of the MACOs by the door trotted over.

"Your phase pistol, Sergeant." Kemper pulled the requested weapon from his equipment harness and handed it to Stanfield.

Stanfield held the pistol up so Sprel could see it. "Settings are here; 'safe', 'stun' and 'kill'." He handed the pistol to Sprel; it was set on 'kill'. "Follow me and do as I do. If we take fire from multiple sources, I'll engage right, you take left. When I'm moving, you provide covering fire, when you're moving, I'll cover you. If I'm killed or injured, find the nearest MACOs and stick with them." He handed Sprel a small canister. "This is a smoke grenade. If you're pinned down, pull the pin and throw it, then move under cover of the smoke. Any questions?"

"I understand, Major."

"Good." Stanfield turned to T'Pol, "Best of luck, Commander. I'll see you back on _Enterprise_."

"Yes. Be careful, Major." Then she turned to Sprel, and clasped his arm. "You be careful, too." Sprel touched her hand, but said nothing.

Stanfield and Sprel left, leaving T'Pol with the two MACOs and nineteen bewildered Vulcans.

"We must go now," she said.

####

The half-kilometer walk through dense woods and darkness to the landing zone was uneventful. Sergeant Kemper took point, using his night vision goggles to navigate through the underbrush. Behind him came the Vulcans, in single file. T'Pol and Corporal Hamboyan brought up the rear. It only took ten minutes to get there, but it was ten minutes that made T'Pol wish she had worn her uniform. Branches slapped at her skin, stinging her burns. Vines and thorny bushes tugged and scratched at her, breaking open blisters and tearing off scabs. She suppressed the pain and kept moving.

The two shuttlepods were waiting in the clearing when they arrived, and she let Captain Savok oversee the details of evacuating his crew, while she and the two MACOs took up defensive positions. The shuttlepods left with the first sixteen Vulcans, and the remainder settled down in the darkness to wait for the next lift.

Captain Savok approached T'Pol, and crouched next to her. "Once again I was wrong about you, Commander. You say the most astonishing things, convincing me you must be delusional. Then I find they are true. It is most disconcerting."

"I understand, sir. I have been similarly disconcerted by many of my own dealings with humans."

"Yet you are married to one."

"That is correct," T'Pol said. She paused while Trip sent her an update, then relayed the information to the Captain. "I have just been informed that the shuttlepods have docked with _Enterprise_. Your crew members are safe."

"I was not aware you had been given a communicator. Or did you?.."

"Yes, Captain. I just learned that information through my bond. I can also tell you that _Ki'Vaar_ was taken intact."

"So I did not lose my ship, merely half my crew. It is a small consolation."

"I did not have a chance to tell you this sooner, sir, but your junior crew members were rescued two days ago, by the _Ti'Mur_ and the Starfleet ship _Columbia_. They were all unharmed. You have lost no one."

"That is gratifying news, Commander. It seems I owe a great deal to Starfleet. And to you. It was a fortunate day, when you came aboard my ship."

T'Pol was silent, and Savok, in a moment of uncharacteristic empathy, sensed that something troubled the Vulcan sitting in the darkness next to him. "Commander?"

_It was not so fortunate for me,_ T'Pol thought. _I fear things will never be the same with Trip, after he sees what has been done to me._ "I... I am fine, sir. These past days have been hard on me." T'Pol stood to leave, "If you will excuse me, sir, I must go speak with Sergeant Kemper."

####

Kassus looked up as Naraar entered the control room. "Where is Mavas?"

"Dead," Naraar answered.

"The others?"

"All dead. We could not stop them; they have taken the compound. They are not Vulcan. I think they are human."

"Yes, they are. I got word from the warships before they were destroyed. It is the Starfleet vessel _Enterprise_.

"Starfleet," Naraar mused. "She knew. Somehow, our little Vulcan knew they were coming. That is why she talked so freely, yesterday. Why they all talked. I never broke her; she simply knew help was coming."

"I believe you are right, Naraar. I believe our Starfleet Commander had a hand in this, although I can't imagine how. It seems even I underestimated her." Kassus laid his hand on the data console and sighed. "So much valuable data, and we will never be able to use it."

"We don't have much time left. The humans saw me enter the control room. The door will not hold them off for long. Do you have a plan for escape?"

"No." Kassus flipped a panel open and poised his hand over a large switch, "I have a plan, but not for escape."

Naraar's eyes grew wide, and he jumped at Kassus, trying to prevent him from throwing the switch. He could not.

####

...T'Pol stood to leave, "If you will excuse me, sir, I must go speak with Sergeant Kemper."

Half a kilometer to the northeast, Kassus threw the switch that activated a small thermonuclear device on the roof of the control room. In that instant, the night burned brighter than a hundred suns, and the buildings of the compound were reduced to glowing dust.

The detonation caught T'Pol standing in the open at the edge of the clearing. The initial flash burned the exposed skin on the left side of her face and body, and the shock wave threw her to the ground like a rag doll.

**Continued in Chapter 6**


	6. Chapter 6

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** R, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. G otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

**Note:** The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

****

SIX  
_Enterprise_, 18 May 2155

Trip gasped, and shot to his feet. "Something's wrong!"

"There was an explosion at the compound," Malcolm said, checking his sensor readings. "About a half-kiloton yield."

"Life signs?" Archer asked.

"I can't tell yet. Residual energy is interfering with sensors."

Hoshi methodically tried each of the tactical ground channels--the primary and both alternates. "I've lost the comm link with Major Stanfield."

"What about the landing zone?"

"Same channels, sir. No response yet..."

Archer looked over at Trip, who was on the bridge acting as a relay between T'Pol and the _Enterprise_. "Commander?" he asked, trying to ignore the sick feeling growing in his stomach.

"I-- I can't reach her, Captain. Something happened... I've gotta go!" Trip lurched toward the bridge exit, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Don't let the shuttlepods leave without me!"

"Captain, sensors are getting through now. I'm reading life signs at the LZ. Four Vulcan and two human."

"What about the compound?"

"Nothing," Malcolm intoned, "Major Stanfield's team was at ground zero, sir, I don't think they made it." He concentrated on doing his job, and tried not to remember the earnest faces of the MACO team he had helped give an op-order to just four hours prior. _Time for that later._

"Sir? The dampening field is down. I've got transporter locks on the six life signs at the LZ."

"Beam them directly to sickbay," Archer commanded. "Tell Phlox he has casualties on the way."

####

Trip was almost to the launch bay when he felt a stirring in his mind. *T'POL! Are you alright?*

*...what? ...what happened...* Her sending came with an undercurrent of pain and confusion.

*There was an explosion at the compound. Hang on, I'm coming to get you; I'm almost to the shuttlepod now.* As he ran, he reached for her mind and absorbed her pain... and collapsed against the bulkhead in agony. The left side of his body felt like it had been dipped in boiling oil.

*...shuttlepods? Trip, I'm in sickbay.* T'Pol's mind was clearing, helped along, in part, by Trip's ministrations.

*Sickbay? How?.. The transporter!* Trip gritted his teeth and groaned as he staggered to his feet. He turned and headed for sickbay as fast as his feet could take him. Fortunately, it was not far, being on the same deck as the launch bays.

Trip entered sickbay and looked wildly around. All six of the personnel from the LZ had been triaged. Kemper and Hamboyan had suffered the lightest injuries. They sat patiently off to one side waiting their turn for treatment. _Ki'Vaar's_ Physician, Doctor S'Vor, and two Starfleet medical assistants attended to the three treatment beds occupied by Captain Savok and the other two Vulcan crew members. T'Pol had sustained the worst injuries; she lay on the primary examination table while Doctor Phlox treated her.

Trip approached the table and stood beside Phlox, who was starting her on an IV. Despite his attempts to prepare himself beforehand, Trip was shocked by what he saw. The poorly healing burns she suffered at the Orion's hands were bad enough--oozing fluid and weeping blood--but her most recent injuries were horrific. Her left eye was swollen shut, and her left cheek appeared to be one large blister. The side of her neck, the outside of her arm, and a portion of her left ribcage were similarly blistered. Blood flowed from a cut on her scalp, where her head had struck the ground.

T'Pol slowly turned her head toward Trip, her one good eye glinting in the bright lights of sickbay. She registered the dismay on his face. *I am sorry, my love.*

He took her right hand into his own. *Don't be sorry, darling, you were magnificent. You're safe, now; we'll take good care of you.* He sent reassurance across the bond, or tried to. He was not sure he was entirely successful.

"Doc, she's in pain... uh, _I'm_ in pain. Can you?.."

"This should help," Phlox said, discharging a hypospray against her neck.

Trip could feel the medication start working, and the worst of the pain began to ease. "Yeah, that's better."

*Trip, what happened?* T'Pol asked

*The Romulans destroyed the compound. You were injured by the blast. Major Stanfield and his team were killed.*

*Sprel!* T'Pol's mental exclamation came with a surge of grief and sorrow that took Trip completely by surprise.

*Sprel?*

*Sprel was... with Major... Stanfield.* T'Pol's consciousness slipped from her as Phlox's drugs took affect.

"Her condition is stable, Commander," Phlox said to Trip. "There is nothing more you can do here. I suggest you leave me to my work; I will keep you apprised of her status."

Trip clung to her hand, and tried to fight back the sense of dread that gripped his heart at what he had just sensed from T'Pol.

"Commander Tucker. Please!"

"Uh? Oh, sure. Sorry, Doc." Trip released her hand, and walked slowly from the room.

Doctor Phlox watched him go, a troubled frown on his face, then turned his attention back to his patient.

####

Trip sat in his small office outside of main engineering and stared at the console on his desk. He had intended to get some work done, but could not concentrate, at least not on work. Instead, his mind kept going over (and over) his last interaction with T'Pol. _Phlox warned me, but I couldn't help myself. I was not prepared for her appearance--how could I be?-- and she sensed my dismay. I have just validated all that nonsense she believes about me._

He was also troubled by the intensity of her feelings for the Vulcan Sprel. Since he had known her, there were only three people she cared for that much; her mother, her daughter, and him. Somehow, in ten short days, Sprel had managed to find a place for himself on that select list. Trip could not help but wonder if she had somehow reconnected with her own people, and learned to develop meaningful relationships with other Vulcans. Relationships more satisfying, perhaps, than those with a mere human. _She certainly wouldn't worry about a few scars if she had a Vulcan husband._ A pang of apprehension shot through him at the thought.

_She doesn't have to worry about a few scars with me, either. I just have to make her believe it. Somehow._ His mind reached for her, but she was still under anesthesia. He could sense her presence, but her thoughts curled back on themselves like a fuzzy ball of yarn, not the warm, vibrant glow he normally felt. Trip sighed, and continued to stare at the console while anxiety gnawed at his soul.

####

"Commander Tucker, please report to the Captain's mess." Trip sat up with a start, and glanced at the clock on his console; he'd been sitting in his office for almost three hours. _I must've dozed off._

He stabbed a button on the comm panel. "On my way, Captain." He smoothed his hair, and checked on T'Pol. She was still under anesthesia.

Trip walked into the Captain's mess, and hesitated when he saw Captain Archer sitting with Captain Savok. Archer looked up and smiled, "Commander Tucker. Please, sit down."

Trip sat, and nodded gratefully as the steward placed a cup of coffee in front him.

Archer made the introductions, "Captain Savok, this is my Chief Engineer, Commander Tucker. Commander, this is Captain Savok, of the _Ki'Vaar_."

Savok inclined his head, "It is agreeable to meet you, Commander. I was just released from sickbay, and your Doctor Phlox informed me before I left that your wife is doing well. He expects a full recovery."

Trip nodded, "She's in good hands. I'm not worried about that."

Archer gave his friend a concerned look. Trip seemed to be implying he was worried about _something,_ if not T'Pol's health. He did appear unusually subdued, but that was to be expected after what he'd been through. Wasn't it?

Trip took a sip of coffee and stared out the window.

"Captain Savok asked to meet you," Archer said, awkwardly. "He's heard a lot about you."

"I'm sure."

"I wanted to meet the human who convinced a Vulcan to marry him," Savok said. "I am curious to know how you managed it."

Archer cringed at Savok's bluntness, but maintained a smiling demeanor. "Yes, Commander, I've often wondered that myself." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. In fact, it was true. He _had_ often wondered how Trip had managed to win the heart of his coolly logical First Officer.

Trip shrugged. _Why not?_ he thought. He did not have T'Pol's reticence about sharing the mundane details of their relationship. In fact, under other circumstances, he would have relished the invitation to talk about her. _About us,_ he corrected, _assuming there will still be an 'us' after this._ "It sort of happened slowly, over time," he began, "when Sub-Commander T'Pol first reported aboard, I was not thrilled. I thought she was a stuck-up, meddling Vulcan, sent to sabotage our mission."

"Stuck-up?" Savok inquired.

"Sorry," Trip apologized. "Stuck-up. Uh, snobbish. Prideful. It's a common misconception humans have about Vulcans. I know they're not, but they sure seem that way sometimes. Anyway, I didn't want her on this ship, and the rest of the crew felt the same way. We treated her like crap."

"Crap?"

"It means we treated her poorly. It had to be tough on her, but she stuck it out. She did her job--her sense of duty is impeccable--and she did it well. Her loyalty to the Captain and this ship are beyond reproach. She treats all hands with dignity and respect."

Trip paused while the steward refreshed his coffee. "Commander T'Pol earned my respect, sir. Respect turned to admiration; admiration became friendship; and friendship led to... well, you'll have to ask Commander T'Pol for the rest of the story. I don't believe she would consider it appropriate for me to discuss. Suffice it to say she means more to me than anyone I've ever known."

Savok pondered what he had just heard. Duty. Loyalty. Dignity. Perseverance. All good Vulcan traits. It seemed T'Pol's human mate was attracted by characteristics that no Vulcan would be ashamed to possess. From what he had learned of T'Pol over the past ten days, she had certainly not _seemed_ corrupted by human traits. "That was most informative, Commander. I needed to verify that Commander T'Pol has not repudiated her Vulcan ideals while living among humans."

"Never, sir," Trip affirmed, "she's as Vulcan as they come."

"She's also an outstanding officer," Archer interjected, feeling the need to jump on the T'Pol band wagon. "I couldn't ask for a better First Officer. I trust her implicitly and rely on her judgment every day."

"Yes," Savok said. "I can bear personal witness to her competence. She--"

Savok never got to finish his sentence, as Trip suddenly jumped to his feet, mumbled something that sounded like 'gotta go,' and rushed out the door. Savok watched him leave, perplexed.

A slow grin spread over Archer's face, and he reached over to the comm panel and punched in the code for sickbay. "Archer to Phlox. Did Commander T'Pol just wake up?"

"Yes, Captain," Phlox replied. "Should I be expecting a visit from our Chief Engineer?"

"He's heading your way at maximum warp," Archer chuckled. "How is T'Pol?"

"She's doing well, but don't expect her back on duty for some time."

"Not a problem," Archer agreed. "She's earned the rest."

"Ah, Commander Tucker has arrived. I will speak with you later, Captain."

"Archer out."

####

Trip arrived at sickbay to find Phlox waiting for him in the passageway outside. He moved to brush by him, but Phlox grabbed him by the arm. "Commander, a moment please."

Trip hesitated, looking toward sickbay then back at the Doctor.

Phlox released his arm. "I've finished treating her physical injuries. She'll be groggy from the anesthesia for several more minutes, but otherwise she's in fine shape. The flash burns she sustained were only a few minutes old when they brought her in; they've left no scars or permanent marks. A patch of hair on the left side of her head is missing, but it will grow back."

Phlox paused, and Trip knew the bad news was next. A cold knot formed in his gut.

"The burns she suffered during her interrogation were untreated for too long. I did what I could, but I'm afraid they've left visible scars. I've asked Doctor S'Vor to look at her; he is more familiar with Vulcan physiology and may be able to recommend alternate treatments."

"Doc, I told you; I don't _care_ about the damn scars," Trip said, with considerable irritation, "I'm going to see my wife now." He entered sickbay and made a direct line for T'Pol's side. The flash burns were gone, just as Phlox had said, but lines and patches of white scar tissue remained where the soldering iron had done its work. Her hair was an unkempt mass framing a gaunt face. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes. In short, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He took her hand into both of his and reached for her mind. She was still under the influence of anesthesia, and her thoughts flowed sluggishly. She felt his presence and her eyes drifted open to fix on his face.

"Trip..."

"I'm here, darling"

Her hand squeezed his in answer, and her eyes closed again. *Tired...*

*You just rest now,* Trip sent. He heard Phlox and S'Vor enter sickbay behind him, but his eyes stayed locked on T'Pol.

Rest would not come. As her mind slowly cleared, past events came rushing back in a surge of dread and dismay. Her eyes shot open, and her unoccupied hand lifted to her face. Her fingers traced the lines of scar tissue as a wave of panic overcame her.

Trip felt her panic, and immediately tried to reassure her, and tried again when the first attempt failed. Once more he was brought up short by the fact that he was dealing with a belief, not a feeling. _She still believes I cannot love her with those scars._ He fought to contain his exasperation.

"T'Pol, look at me. LOOK AT ME." Trip demanded. "How can you believe these scars matter to me?"

She cringed at the intensity of his thoughts. Her mental functions were not fully recovered from the anesthesia and she was aware enough to realize it. Her logical faculties could not adequately process the information Trip was sending at her so urgently, so her Vulcan mind simply reverted to the last logical conclusion in her memory: She was disfigured; therefore Trip would no longer be attracted to her. Trip's exasperation grew.

Phlox and S'Vor had been joined by Archer and Savok. Archer looked questioningly at Phlox, who shook his head. "Give them a moment, Captain," Phlox murmured, "they need to work this out themselves."

"Shouldn't they be doing that in private?" Archer asked. The last thing he wanted was for Captain Savok to witness a spectacle between his two senior officers. It was only minutes ago that he had been convinced T'Pol was sufficiently Vulcan.

"Perhaps I can help," Doctor S'Vor said, stepping up to stand beside Trip, "Commander T'Pol, do you remember me?"

"Doctor S'Vor?"

"Yes, I am Doctor S'Vor. Are you concerned about the scars on your body?"

"N-Not me. Husband is."

"I am not!" Trip protested.

"Well, neither of you needs to worry," S'Vor said. "There is a procedure I can perform that will completely remove the scar tissue. You will not be able to tell it was ever there."

A wave of relief washed through T'Pol. Trip's reaction was more dramatic: He released her hand and aimed a vicious kick at a nearby equipment cabinet. The loud crash startled everyone in the room. "Dammit! DAMMIT!" He stormed from sickbay, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

"Trip?.." T'Pol called after him. Her mind reached for his, but recoiled from the heat of his anger.

She struggled to sit up, but Phlox rushed to restrain her, "You need a few more minutes before I can let you up, Commander."

She looked around the room, confusion evident on her face. "Why? Why was he angry?"

Phlox was just as perplexed as T'Pol. S'Vor and Savok exchanged knowing glances. _Humans_.

Archer looked thoughtfully at his First Officer. "T'Pol, I heard Trip tell you the scars didn't matter to him. Do you believe otherwise?"

"Yes, Captain. I have studied the human sexual response in some detail."

"Well, I don't know what you studied, but you got it wrong. You're wrong about humans in general, and you're wrong about Trip in particular. I can guarantee you, as a human and a male, that your scars are completely insignificant to your husband. Trip believes any man who would love his wife less because of them is not a real man and is worthy of contempt."

T'Pol considered Archer's words, and made the logical connection. "I... I have impugned his honor," she said.

Archer nodded. "Yes. And if S'Vor fixes your scars, Trip loses the opportunity to prove to you that the scars didn't matter. You will forever believe him to be one of those contemptible men he despises."

"I must go to him," T'Pol said, struggling to rise against Phlox's restraining hand. "Now!"

Archer touched Phlox on the shoulder. "Phlox, let her up. This is important. Go get her some clothes."

T'Pol sat up, somewhat unsteadily, and gave her Captain a grateful look. Phlox scurried off and returned with a sickbay-issue bathrobe and a pair of disposable slippers. He shooed the others out and pulled the privacy curtain around T'Pol's bed.

"Computer," Archer said, "Locate Commander Tucker."

"Commander Tucker is on deck D in the Chief Engineer's office."

The curtain pulled back and T'Pol emerged, tying the bathrobe around her. The slippers remained on the bed.

"ChEng's office," Archer said.

"I heard. Thank you, Captain." She hurried out the door toward the turbolift, ignoring the startled glances from crewmen at the sight of their tangle-haired First Officer pattering barefoot down the passageway in a bathrobe.

T'Pol entered Trip's office and stood just inside the doorway. Her face was impassive, but the way she clenched her hands betrayed the emotions she struggled to contain.

Trip gave her a questioning look, but said nothing.

"I am ashamed, k'diwa," T'Pol said, "I have dishonored you. Can you forgive me?"

His heart melted. "Oh, T'Pol..." He lurched to his feet and took her into his arms. A tremor ran through her body as he gently pulled her against his chest and stroked her softly on the back.

"I am sorry," T'Pol whispered, "I should never have doubted you."

"No, you shouldn't have. The scars are nothing to me." Trip kicked the office door closed with his foot, and led T'Pol to his desk chair. He collected her into his lap, cuddling her and sending gentle reassurance across their bond. In moments she was asleep, but Trip didn't care. He was content to just hold her, content to be reunited again after so much trauma and fear. _She's endured so much these past ten days, it's a wonder she's held it together this long. She truly has the heart of a lion._

When one foot started to tingle from restricted blood flow, Trip slowly stood--trying not to disturb T'Pol as he shifted his hold on her--and carried her to their room. The one crewman he met on the way moved to the side and nodded respectfully as they passed. If he thought it odd, he kept it to himself.

**Continued in Chapter 7**


	7. Chapter 7

**Liaison**

**Author:** Transwarp

**Rating:** R, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. G otherwise.

**Genre:** Action/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

**Summary:** T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

****

**SEVEN**

_Enterprise_, 19 May 2155

"Are you certain you do not desire to see the engineering spaces? They are right through those doors." Trip's Vulcan guide, a junior officer in the _Ki'Vaar's_ engineering department, led him through the unfamiliar passageways.

"Normally, I'd love to," Trip replied, "but today I don't have time. My wife is due out of surgery soon. I want to be there when she wakes up."

"Your wife is Commander T'Pol?"

"Yes."

"Would you inform her that Sub-Lieutenant Tolvan sends his gratitude? I doubt any of us would have survived, if not for her."

"I'll tell her," Trip said. Inwardly, he marveled at the change in Vulcan attitudes toward T'Pol. They had gone from barely-concealed disdain to outright hero worship. _Well, the Vulcan equivalent of hero worship, anyway,_ Trip thought, amused. _When you get right down to it, it's not all that different from their barely-concealed disdain..._

"Here we are, Commander. The main shuttle bay." Tolvan opened the door, and stood to one side so Trip could enter. He walked in and looked around, while Tolvan watched with restrained curiosity.

Trip strode to a point in the middle of the shuttle bay, where he stooped to pick up a small object lying on the deck. He pocketed the item, and returned to the door where Tolvan waited. "Got it," Trip said. "Let's get back to _Enterprise_.

"What was it you came for, Commander?"

"This." Trip pulled the small, brown object from his pocket and showed it to Tolvan. "It's called a teddy bear. A gift for my wife. She lost it when the Andorians took the ship. I came to get it back."

"I see," Tolvan said, although he clearly didn't.

They headed back to the docking port that joined the two ships, and Trip made his way to sickbay.

####

T'Pol woke from surgery to Trip's smiling face. He greeted her jovially, "Hey darlin'."

"Trip..."

"In person. And look who else is here," Trip announced, pointing.

T'Pol's gaze shifted to the crook of her left arm, where a familiar brown figure was tucked under the sheet. "Hey-you!" Her delight at the reunion broadened the smile on Trip's face. *Thank you,* she sent, *but I have a surprise for you, too.*

She lifted her right shoulder for Trip's inspection. There, at the top of her upper arm, was a small, white scar. *It is where Naraar first burned me with the soldering iron,* she explained, *I asked Doctor S'Vor to leave it. It will serve to remind me to never doubt your love, my husband.*

Wordlessly, Trip fingered the scar. He was deeply moved, and not a little surprised, by T'Pol's gesture. *And it will serve to remind _me_ just how amazing you are.*

She lifted her arms, examining them, and feeling her face for scars. None were evident. "How do I look?" She asked.

"You're beautiful," Trip answered, "but then, you were beautiful before the surgery."

"When may I leave sickbay?"

"Soon, darlin'. But don't expect to be on the job for a while. Doc says you gotta take it easy for at least three days. You've been through an awful lot."

"And what of you, Trip? You have been through an 'awful lot' as well. Must you also 'take it easy'?"

"Are you kidding? Phlox is putting me to work," Trip lamented. "I'm going to be your full-time nurse until he clears you for duty."

T'Pol settled back into her pillow with a contented expression. "That is acceptable. I am thirsty. Would you bring me some water? Chilled, but without ice."

Trip chuckled. "I can see this is going to be a looong three days."

####

Captain Archer looked across the table at his two senior officers and smiled. "It's good to have you back, Commander," he said to T'Pol. "Malcolm is anxious to hand his First Officer responsibilities back to you. I don't think he appreciated just how much you did, until he had to do it."

"I am sure his performance was satisfactory," T'Pol said, "but I, too, am anxious to resume my duties."

"I've got to say, T'Pol, you look pretty good for someone who's had two major medical procedures in the past two days." Archer said. He noted, with approval, that she was wearing a Starfleet duty uniform. He did not notice the small lump in her left pants pocket.

"I attribute that to the excellent nursing I am receiving," T'Pol said, with a significant glance in Trip's direction.

*Excellent nursing?* Trip sent, *Darlin', it's more than just the nursing. I think that long, hot shower we took together might've helped speed your recovery, don't you?*

*You might be correct, my love. I propose we attempt it again, tonight. With appropriate scientific controls in place to monitor our progress, of course.*

*Of course.*

"Huh," Archer said. "I knew you were many things, Trip, but excellent nurse is a new one."

"And a short-lived one, I hope," Trip growled.

The steward brought in their meals, and there was a lull in the conversation as he set plates in front of them. Archer nodded his thanks, and turned his attention back to T'Pol, "Have you given any thought on your report to the commission for operating procedures with the Vulcan fleet?"

T'Pol looked startled for a moment, then regained her composure. "I regret that I was not able to complete my mission, Captain. I had some extensive notes, but they were... vaporized in the explosion. I can recreate a portion from memory; I will start on that tonight."

Trip groaned, "Tonight?"

"That won't be necessary, T'Pol," Archer said, with a grin. He slid a PADD across the table to T'Pol. She picked it up, a curious expression on her face.

"That," Archer said, grandly, "is a complete set of Vulcan fleet technical manuals, training guides, operating procedures, and logistic databases."

"Where did you get this?" T'Pol asked, suppressing her amazement.

"From Captain Savok. I get the impression he was not authorized to release this information, but he didn't want you to report to the commission empty handed. He also said that someone who had just saved a Vulcan combat cruiser from destruction, her entire crew from enslavement or death, and kept critical intelligence out of Romulan hands was not a security risk."

T'Pol looked at the PADD, then tucked it safely away in a pocket. "This information will be quite helpful to the commission," T'Pol observed, "it was most agreeable of Captain Savok to provide it."

*So, T'Pol, what's it like to be back in the good graces of your people?* Trip sent.

*It is good.*

Archer picked up a wine glass and held it up, "A toast, then. To Captain Savok."

Trip and T'Pol raised their glasses as well.

"And to the six that didn't return," T'Pol added. "Major Stanfield. Sergeant Kelly. Corporal Myers. Private Stutzman. Private Nashelsky. Lieutenant Sprel."

They drank and set their glasses down. A long silence ensued.

*You know their names.* Trip sent. He thought he had been with her every waking moment since her recovery. He certainly didn't remember her viewing any casualty lists or after-action reports.

*I am their First Officer. I made it a point to find out.*

They turned their attention to their meals. "You know," Archer said, between bites of steak, "I was surprised by our Vulcan liaison the first time I invited him for dinner. He put on quite a performance."

"Performance is right. I thought I was going to bust from holding in the laughter," Trip chortled. "Jon, you should've seen the look on your face when he spit his food out. I thought you were gonna have a stroke!"

Archer shrugged. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing. From a Vulcan, no less." He gave T'Pol an appraising look. "Trip tells me that you were responsible for Sub-Commander Valak's anti-social behavior that night. He says he had nothing to do with it. I'm not sure I believe him. Would you care to set the record straight?"

"Yes Captain. I was attempting to play a 'practical joke'. It appears I succeeded."

Archer's eyes widened in amazement, "So it's true. You _were_ responsible!"

"On the contrary, Captain. The fault is entirely Commander Tucker's. He taught me about practical jokes and encouraged me to try them. I maintain my innocence."

Archer burst into helpless laughter, and T'Pol looked at Trip with her 'Vulcan eyes'.

*Once again your logic is completely flawless, and also completely wrong,* Trip sent. *And you can stop with the Vulcan eyes, darling. They're not going to work this time.*

*They're not?*

*Well, maybe a little.* Trip admitted.

*A little?*

*Okay, a lot. I turn to mush when you give me that look. You know I can't help it.*

*Yes, I know*

*Ha!* Trip pounced, *I _knew_ you did it deliberately. You just admitted it.*

Archer glanced from one to the other, which wasn't hard to do, since their two chairs were placed about as close together as they would go. "Okay, I need to know something. You two were talking to each other just now, weren't you."

Trip looked at T'Pol, then back at Archer with a sheepish expression. "Well, Captain, I'm not sure 'talking' is the right word, but yes, we were... we were... Help me out here, T'Pol. What do you call what we were doing?"

"The Vulcan term is irak-nahan. I believe humans would call it telepathy."

Archer nodded, triumphantly. "I knew it. You've been doing iraka-han..."

"Irak-nahan"

"Yes, Irak-nahan. You've been doing it for sometime, now. I could never quite put my finger on it, but I could tell something was going on."

"That was very observant of you, Captain," T'Pol said.

"Not, really," Archer chuckled, "you weren't exactly subtle about it."

"I apologize, Captain," T'Pol began. "It was never our intention to--"

Archer cut her off, "S'okay, T'Pol. No need to apologize. I'd just try to be a little more discreet if I were you. You have no idea how odd the two of you look when you're doing that irak... irak-nahan thing."

Trip had to grin. "Odd, Jon? Just 'cause we're talking without moving our lips? No. Odd is people that watch golf. It's like watching paint dry, for crying out loud. Or, even worse--people that watch water polo. Now, _that's_ odd."

"You think water polo is odd? How about fishing? Could there possibly be a more boring sport?"

"Well, now," Trip drawled, "in the first place, I didn't say water polo was odd. I said _watching_ it was odd. In the second place, when I'm fishing, I'm in a boat, on the water, and drinking beer. I defy you to find something odd about that."

Archer laughed, "Okay, I'll give you that. Fishing's not odd. What about curling? The sport with the big rock on the ice, and the brooms? Would you at least concede that curling is odd? Doing it AND watching it?"

"I believe we have found some common ground, here," Trip said, with mock solemnity. "I will concede that curling is odd."

T'Pol watched the banter between the Captain and his Chief Engineer with a feeling of deep satisfaction. She was with her two closest friends--her k'diwa and her Captain--aboard the ship she loved. She was home.

"And there's no place like home," she murmured.

**END**


End file.
